Forging Reality
by ditzydizzydessy101
Summary: STANDS IN STEAD OF LAST CH OF DH Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are hurled to the Marauder's time during the last battle.
1. Mixed Emotions

Aloha!

DitzyDizzyDessy101 here

I am finally publishing this story (but i doubt any of you knew their was any sort of wait involved)

Just a note: If you're one of those people who like to skip ahead to where the timetravelers are introduced to the school, start reading at Chapter 3; if you prefer not to read until they meet the Marauders, this happens near the end of that same chapter.

And, just because I'm so nice, I've planned a special surprise for you!

POP QUIZ!

For real, actually...

Okay, here goes:

_True / False:_

_1. This is a book, not a fanfic._

_2. J.K. Rowling is a fourteen year old kid seeking entertainment._

_3. You have never heard of Harry Potter because it is nothing but a half-formed, undeveloped idea and the author has absolutely no talent—at all—in writing._

_Form a brief statement of what you've learned in regard __to the above questions._

Stumped? Ha! You failed! Back to kindergarten for all of you! As any five year old will tell you, numbers one to three are all false, and the statement is: _DitzyDizzyDessy101 is not JK Rowling and has no claim to Harry Potter. _Duh!

Can't think what else to say here, soooo

HAPPY READING

Forging Reality

by DitzyDizzyDessy101

XXXX MIXED EMOTIONS XXXX

Prologue, taken from DH. Beginning of story takes place immediately after: _'He was lying face down on the ground again. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses, which had been knocked sideways by the fall, cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch... He had expected to hear cheers of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air. "My Lord... _my Lord..." _It was Bellatrix, and she spoke as if to a lover.'_

He stirred, crawling to his knees and climbing stiffly to his feet. None of the Death Eaters seemed to notice, as they were all crowded around Voldemort, who apparently had been blasted off his feet. Harry turned to where Hagrid was bound to the tree, and saw the half-giant's shoulders heaving with silent sobs. He crossed the few feet to him and gently placed a hand on his arm; felt him wince away, and murmured, "Hagrid, it's me, Harry."

Hagrid's face jerked up, his eyes desperate and drowning in soundless tears. A spark of disbelieving recognition lit his eyes and he mouthed_Harry? ;_ as his face split into a wide, tear-soaked grin, his jubilation broke the silencing spell, and he half-shouted, half-sobbed, "You're alive!" He struggled against his bonds, ripping them off with his newfound strength and joy, and wrapping Harry in a tight, bone-crushing hug.

Harry paused a moment to return the hug, then somehow managed to slip from his friend's embrace and spin around to face Voldemort, reaching for his wand.

Voldemort had stood up, shaking off the worshiping Bellatrix as she clung to him. His eyes burned with anger and –could it be?—fear; his lips mouthed his silent question.

"You don't get it, do you Riddle?" Harry said, his voice low and quiet. "You think just because you never want those words pointed at you—just because you're afraid of death—means that death is the worst thing!" He could see the crowd around him lean forward to catch his every word, could practically feel their repulsion to what he was saying and yet their fear of missing anything, but Voldemort's face was the only one that mattered anymore. "You are a fool, Riddle, because you've dismissed from your life everything that can make you truly feel—and so everything that can make you most powerful!"

"Surely you jest, Potter!" Voldemort jeered, his red eyes wide and burning. "It is when humans feel that they become weakest! Power is in stopping emotion, cutting yourself off from regret, love, sorrow, pain, so there is nothing to hold you back!"

"And yet it was love that made my mum die for me and save my life, causing you that unbearable pain and leading your leeching followers to pretend you'd never existed! Love for my mum that convinced Snape to join our side and betray you to Dumbledore, no matter the risk! Love for all the world that enabled Dumbledore—and me—to go calmly to our deaths so that you could be defeated!"

"But you did not die!"

"I meant to! You'll never learn, will you?! Love might not keep one person from dying but it both lets them face death with dignity— rather than hiding behind horcurxes and unicorn blood—and gives them hope and strength in the darkest of times!

"Do you remember, Tom Riddle, those years when you were alone and servantless—chased out by love? What about those years in the orphanage when you were deprived of love—do you remember asking yourself why your mum and dad weren't there to coddle you, to wake you from your nightmares and tell you everything would be alright?"

"Enough!" Voldemort screamed, his eyes gleaming scarlet. "Lies, all of them! I never needed love because I was better—stronger—than the others! And I ask you this—is your mudblood mother any better off because of her _great love_? Is Dumbledore? They're both dead at my hand and no _love_—however strong—is going to bring them back again!" His rage exploded, touched with a tinge of denial.

Harry shouted back, "Yes, they are infinitely better off! They may be dead but their memory lives on! Your _power _ may be able to destroy life, but only love can create and nurture it—as you should know!" He forced himself to calm down, refusing to allow his fury to dominate the exchange.

"How about this, Riddle," he said, a plan forming in his mind. "How about we put it to the test. Your power against mine, your greed and fear of death against my love."

Voldemort's eyes gleamed in the reflected firelight, so that there appeared to be tiny flames dancing in them. Harry could only guess what he was thinking until he hissed, "What do you suggest?"

"A duel, but two things first," Harry said, pushing his luck, "The terms have to be equal." He could see Voldemort frown, even beneath his perpetual snakelike glare. "The snake dies."

"NO!" Voldemort's eyes widened, shining a deep scarlet. "I won't allow my...pet...to die for the sake of a contest with an foolish child!"

"Don't. Allow me to destroy your horcrux so that, when the story of your defeat gets around, they won't say you were too much of a coward to face a seventeen-year-old kid on like a man!

"

Voldemort's furious hiss could have been a part of the cackling fire, almost lost as it was in clamor that arose from the surrounding Death Eaters.

Encouraged, Harry mocked further, "Imagine what they'll say about your reign, Tom Riddle: so afraid of death he attacked a powerless one-year-old and his wandless parents, but couldn't even pull that off right. For the next 12 years, not only was he thwarted again and again by that same child, but his own followers didn't bother trying to find him.

"He claimed to have gone further than anyone in the quest for immortality, but an old man and three kids tore apart his defenses in less than a year!

"And that same boy managed to survive the attempted murder yet again because of a stupid mistake on your part!

"And, facing death at last, he cowered behind his last snake Horcrux, afraid a sev—"

"ENOUGH!" Voldemort's scream was livid with hatred and fury. "We'll do your little test! And then in all the years to come, no one will dare call me a coward!"

"My second request," Harry wondered for a moment if he had gone too far but knew it was too late to turn back, "I get to send word to my friends." He saw Voldemort about to refuse and quickly marshaled his thoughts into an argument. "They won't take part or anything. But I can't let myself just fall into Death Eater hands after you die, can I?"

_**dadada-da!-dadadadadududo-dadadidudadada-diddlydiddlydoo-da!-da!-DA!**_

A few minutes later, Harry and Voldemort bowed to one another. Nagini's bloodied carcass lay discarded where it had fallen, and Harry's patronus had disappeared into the night.

Gripping his wand tightly, Harry straightened and poised, ready to begin.

And suddenly it did.

The air was aglow with curses flying. Although his determination was focused on one target and his thoughts centered around the duel, his mind swam with images of Ginny laughing, Ron grinning awkwardly, Hermione trying to look stern and not smile... Amazingly, these helped him to think more clearly than he ever had when face to face with death.

The battle became a tangled mess, and Harry no longer knew what curse he used as he shot it. The glow of the curses, the leering face of Voldemort, the memory of his friends... He didn't know which curses he shot and which his adversary did.

_"Reducto!" --"Crucio!" -- _rescuing Hermione from the troll -- _"Stupefy!" -- "Flagrate!" -- "Incarcerous!" --_Mrs. Weasley embracing him -- "_Avada Kedavra!" --_ Sirius flying away on Buckbeak -- _" Avis!" -- "Petrificus Totalus!" --"Crucio!" --_private lessons with Dumbledore -- _"Densaugeo!" -- "Locomotor Mortis!" --_ Ron and Hermione snogging –- Harry and Ginny snogging –- Ron leaving them –- winning the Quidditch Cup –- finding out who Nicholas Flammel was –- Hermione punching Malfoy –- Bill and Fleur's wedding

The battle slipped from verbal to nonverbal, but it was no less fierce. Suddenly, though, Harry's _expelliarmus _and Voldemort's _avada kedavra _met mid-air once more. There was a sound like an explosion, like a thousand bombs going off at once.

Harry felt himself thrown backwards by the shock of the impact. His wand was connected to Voldemort's by a golden beam. As he rolled to a standing postion, he saw the his adversary, too, had been knocked off his feet. The noise continued, like gunshots, and despite the beam's golden appearance, the surrounding area was devoid of any light, as though it sucked the very light out of the air leaving a dark emptiness. A few flickering shadows from the dying embers of the fire cast the only light there was.

As he steadied his wand, he felt a wave of panic—and yet, at the same time, he felt as though he were in control and all powerful. The beam emitted a particularly loud explosion.

His emotions changed in an instant. He felt... lighter. Sure of himself because of his character, not power. Scared, but not of death because death was nothing to be afraid of. Scared for everyone else. The people who would be hurt by the monster before him. Scared for his friends, who, if his message hadn't reached them, wouldn't know what happened to him. Or who would try to come to his rescue but would be hurt in the process. Who would have to go on with out him.

BANG!

He was suddenly repulsed by what he had been feeling. Who cared about them? He might die. He couldn't let that happen. He had to win,_needed_ to win. If he failed, all would be lost.

BANG!

He didn't care if he died—he had to protect his friends, and everyone else.

BANG!

_Steady yourself,_ he told himself firmly, _you are stronger than this, more powerful then him. Be in control! You mustn't die! If you do—_

BANG!

His friends—

BANG!

He must survive—

BANG!

The people that would die—

BANG!

He would die!

BANG!

The families that would be ripped apart—the people that would be hurt—parents and kids all alone—

BANG!!!

A blinding light flashed. The noise resounded this time, echoing as if it had all of space and time to bounce around in. The sound didn't die, but no new explosions joined it.

Blinking away the continued glare that obscured his vision, his eyes were drawn to three familiar figures running towards him, their eyes wide with fear and their lips soundlessly mouthing his name.

Suddenly, the beam split into silver and green. Both ends flew wildly in the air like brandishing whips, until the silver end twirled towards him, the green in the opposite direction. The silver wrapped around him, and then, lost in its blinding light, he felt as though water were rushing past him—heavy, but neither cold nor hot, and if he had stopped to think about it about it, he definitely wasn't wet.

Then everything went black and he knew no more.

_DunDunDun  
_

_**OKAY, EVERYBODY, WHADJA THINK? COME ON, I'M DYING TO KNOW.**_

_** DON'T WORRY, THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MUCH LONGER, IF THAT'S WHAT YOUR WORRIED ABOUT.**_

_**IT SHOULD BE UP SOON, BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW QUICK THE OTHER'S WILL BE.**_

_**GOD BLESS!**_

**DitzyDizzyDessy101**_**  
**_


	2. All for a Lemon Drop

Forging Reality

by DitzyDizzyDessy101

Chapter 2

Oh, man! Oh, man! OH, MAN!!!

I have got my first review! You have no idea how ecstatic I am!

Thank you **Sile Ni Dhionnlibin**

You have completely made my day!

And, just for you, I decided to update again tonight!

XX All for a Lemon Drop XX

_alternately titled_

XXX The Convincing of Albus Dumbldore XXX

_I feel, _Harry remarked wryly to himself, as he hurt too much to actually say the words aloud, _as though I've been attacked by a giant spider and its babies, fallen a hundred feet off my broom, spent hours and hours cramped in my cupboard, fought a troll, warded off a dementor, relived the tri-wizard tournament, been bitten by a basilisk, fought Voldemort—oh, and been hit by a killing curse—ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!!_

Atfer all, he was experienced enough with this kind of stuff to know what if felt like.

He heard rustling beside him and mentally groaned. He couldn't possibly handle anything more. He heard a soft, grumbling moan and his irritation turned to delight—Ron! "Bloody hell! What happened?"

He tried to move, tried to respond, but couldn't so he gave up and opted to just lie thee and let Ron figure it out for himself.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!" He didn't—couldn't—move and heard Ron move around some more.

"Hermione!" Ron whispered, and Harry's heart lept. Hermione was here too! "Hermione, are you awake?"

"Mmm-hmmmm," came a sound nearby.

"Well, come on, I'm kinda alone here."

"Yes," Hermione drawled sleepily, "I'd like a banana split... pickles would be lovely."

A snort, more rustling. "Ginny! Come on, wake up!" Ginny! She was here too! He perked his ears, waiting to hear who else was there, but Ron gave a heavy sigh and seemed to lay back down again. There was no more noise.

For the first time, he became aware that he was sprawled on his back on cold, hard dirt. Judging by the smell, he was in a forest, and the bird chirps and crisp cool air indicated that it was early morning. He tried to remember what had happened, but his mind drew a blank so he gave up. A moment later, though, his eyes fluttered open as the past events washed over him.

Judging by his limited view, he was most definitely in a forest, and soft sunlight spilled in through gaps in the branches. He ignored the stiffness in his neck and tilted his head slightly to the side. He saw Ron laying beside him, his clothes wrinkled and slightly torn—was that blood on his shoulder?— and his eyes staring emptily at the leafy canopy.

Harry still felt awful, but the soreness seemed to be receding somewhat. He jiggled his finger, twitched his hand, and then succeeded in lifting his arm...an inch of the ground. _Well, at least it's progress, _he thought dejectedly.

Deciding to let nature take its course, he let his thoughts drift and wondered where they were, what had happened, and why Voldemort and his followers weren't there. Could the enemy have retreated? It seemed unlikely, but where else could they be? It was much too quiet for them to be hanging around...

He had the gut feeling that he, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were safe for the time being, and he noted that sleep had never seemed more welcome.

Harry woke up hours later to the smell of cooking bacon. Eyes blinking open in confusion, he saw, once again, the leafy canopy stretched above him. Bright sunlight streamed down from between the leaves, and the air was alive with the sounds of the forest and the joyful crackling of the bacon.

Relieved to feel that, although he was still sore, he was no longer immobile, he slowly dragged himself up into a sitting position and looked around him. Not far off, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were talking animatedly around a small fire, with a small fry pan filled with sizzling bacon hovering above it.

Harry watched for several minutes with a small smile.

He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was good to know that they were safe and happy. He saw Ginny's hands gesturing wildly—how he loved it when she did that— and Ron's face screw into a mock-offended pout. Hermione rolled her eyes and pecked Ron on the cheek. They hadn't had many moments like these—times when they could really enjoy one another's company. He supposed that the promise of bacon and a full stomach helped encourage the good mood, but the main factor was probably the knowledge that all the horcruxes had been destroyed and the road to the end was much simpler.

He resolved to himself that he would make sure that they had more times like this.

Ginny's story must have ended because her hands dropped and she was laughing, then she glanced his way and broke into a large grin. "Come on, sleepyhead! Join the party!"

The other two looked his way and beckoned, grinning widely, so he grinned back and pulled himself to his feet.

"Morning! You seem to be having fun."

"We've got bacon, too," Ron said proudly.

"So I noticed. Where'd we get it?"

"Hermione." He turned to her and raised his eyebrows. She answered with a sly, hesitant grin.

"Well, I was tired of never having any decent food, so while we were meeting with everyone in the Room of Requirement, I sort of... found their stores and snatched some."

Harry shook his head in wonder and reached for some bacon. "So what were you talking about?"

Ginny smirked at Ron and started, "Do you remember when we went to Egypt? I don't know if you heard, but Fred and George tried to shove Percy in a pyramid, but couldn't because this bufoon here—" she jerked her thumb at Ron and continued, "couldn't keep his..."

It had been, Harry remarked to himself an hour or so later, one of the most pleasant mornings he'd enjoyed in a long time. He found that for a while he could see past his destiny, his struggle to stay alive, his painful past, even Voldemort, in favor of his remebering his fond memories and how lucky he was to be alive and among friends.

After some time, however, the recent events caught up with them, as was inevitable. They bantered back and forth, throwing out theories as to where they were, what the curse had done, and why Voldemort and the Death Eaters had disappeared.

"Maybe he thought that you were using some type of magic he'd never heard of before," Ron suggested, "I mean, he didn't exactly stick around after you defeated him as a baby, did he? He might've called a retreat or something."

Ginny frowned, sounding doubtful, "But that doesn't give us any clue to what caused the weird connection-thing in the first place. The two have to be linked somehow, because Harry—no offense—"she added hastily, "couldn't have pulled off some unknown, highly advanced piece of magic with just a disarming spell."

Harry nodded. "Ginny's right. Besides, when our wands connected after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he shouted for his Death Eaters to leave me to him, not to interfere."

"What if that spell," Ginny said slowly, "sent us into some mass-halucination or something? So we're inside our minds and Voldemort's inside his?"

"Why, though?"

Ginny shrugged, "Maybe there was too much magic and it had to go somewhere."

Ron jumped in. "It could have something to do with that personality switch Harry said he kept having between him and Voldemort. He got trapped inside his mind, and because we got caught by the light too, we were brought in."

"Wouldn't I know what happens inside my own head?"

"Not necessarily. I mean, look at..." Hermione gave a start and dropped off suddenly, pressing a finger to her lips and shaking her head. They all listened closely, and after a moment Harry heard it, too.

The unmistakable signs of someone crashing through the nearby underbrush filled the air—and it was obvious that they weren't doing anything to try to hide it. He could hear shouting and whooping, accompanied by thundering foodsteps, a dog bark, and cracking branches. Musing silently to himself, Harry thought that it sounded rather like a game of tag or cops-and-robbers or something similar. He herded the others under the invisibility cloak, and they backed into the shadows to watch.

It wasn't long before he caught a glimpse of whoever it was, but it didn't help much. All he saw was the flowing edge of a robe, and then, a little farther off, the hindquarters of some tall, magestic, four-legged animal. It wasn't until they were just a little ways off (which admittedly didn't take long) that he caught a full picture: a shaggy black dog, a worn but happy teenager with sandy hair, and a stag that, upon closer inspection, had a rat perched on its head. Hardly a second later they were barreling off again, chasing after one another.

Harry felt dizzy and craned his neck for another view. He wasn't disappointed. The dog burst out of nearby undergrowth and shot past them, followed by the stag who paused a just few meters away and turned its head to wait for the boy to catch up. After a moment he did, but despite his wide grin he was panting heavily and clutching his side. The stag bent down and jerked its head, so the boy climbed on his back and they were off again.

Long after the noise had died down, everyone remained silent and wrapped up in their own thoughts until, at last, Ron demanded shakily, "What the bloody hell was that?"

Harry and Ginny both just shook their heads in mutual bewilderment, but Hermione didn't move, her brow furrowed in concentration. "There are three possibilities," she said finally in a shaky voice. "The first being that we actually are in Harry's head, and this is some sort of trick that spell is playing on us, drawing on our memories.

"The second option is that the spell really did send us to the past, and that really was Harry's dad, Sirius, Remus, and Pettigrew. Either way, we're going to have a hard time getting back."

She was silent for a time, and Ginny prodded her out of it. "And the other option?"

"I'm dreaming," Hermione said flatly. "I overindulged the night before Bill and Fleur's wedding, and that combined with anxiety over our departure has led to a wild and crazy dream where Ron left us then came back; there's an unbeatable wand, a stone to bring back the dead, and Harry's invisibility cloak is actually a one of a kind object out of a fairy tale; Remus and Tonks got married, had a son and died; I destroyed a Horcrux; Harry faced Voldemort again; and we–I and dream Ron, Ginny, and Harry–showed up in the forest and saw a bunch of dead people that were actually alive and much younger than they had any right to be."

The others glanced at each other and grinned. It felt good to ignore, for a moment, the harsh reality of her words.

"Whichever it is," Harry said after a moment as the truth settled in, "we can't just wait here until nightfall." He saw Ginny shiver slightly and wondered briefly what had happened during her detention for trying to steal the sword and if it was this that had such an effect. As protective emotions erupted, he forced the thought from his mind. "I say that we should go find the castle. We might get some answers there, and whether we're in the past, my head, or someone's dream, they're bound to be there."

Ron, he saw, looked relieved at this, but he was the only one. Harry himself was quite nervous about what they would find there, and if he were to judge by her pale, taut features, so was Ginny. With another jolt he wondered just what had happened to her there. To keep himself focused he glanced at Hermione, and saw to his astonishment that she looked neither reassured nor edgy. Instead she wore an expression that was quite familiar but he hadn't seen in ages–one that she usually had when she was trying to figure out a particularly difficult problem that made no sense to anyone but her. An image of her scouting out how to get to the bottom of the Rita Skeeter mystery swam before his eyes.

He knew better than to ask what was on her mind, and waited patiently until she'd reached a conclusion. Before long, she spoke up. "I wouldn't feel right not knowing where I was," she said tentatively, her voice small and her eyes focused on something far away. "Living a lie, or a dream, or having to watch what I say and do for fear of changing the future–I need to know what to expect."

"But Hermione, how can we know–"

"I've already worked that out." Three heads snapped towards her. Hermione continued, her voice growing stronger, "In a dream, you can control what happens with your thoughts, and the same principle should apply if we're in Harry's head. So, naturally, it follows that if we focus on changing something and it does, we're in someone's subconsciousness, but if it doesn't, then we're in the past."

"Unless we're someplace we haven't yet thought of," Ginny added.

"Yes, there's that possibility," Hermione amended. "But I'm willing to bet that it's one of these three. You guys up for it?"

Once they'd all given their accent, Harry wondered idly what to change. He smirked slightly and imagined Neville's Snape-in-dress boggart appearing randomly. He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. He then decided that, before dismissing the idea, he should try something simpler, and pictured the leaves on the trees turning red and gold. Again, nothing happened.

He glanced at the others, all of whom responded with a shake of the head. He couldn't help it. He grinned.

If–_if_–they really were in the past, he would finally have a chance to see his parents... Sirius... Dumbledore... With a painful lurch, he saw Remus and Tonks and Fred... all dead. This was back before all that, back when all was good and Voldemort had just barely reached his peak of power.

The foresight of the impending attacks weighed heavily on his mind, but if he could lose himself for a moment when all was well and all were living, he might find the strength to carry on.

"To the castle, then?" Ron broke in quietly, and he nodded, glad to be pulled from his bittersweet thoughts.

Hermione started and pulled out her wand. Alarmed, they mirrored her, fearing for an attack, but her attention was focused on them, not elsewhere. With a wave of her wand, Harry felt a strange sensation along his arms and torso, and when he looked, he saw that his robes were repairing themselves along all the tears and that something similar was happening to the others as well. She then administered Dittany to their wounds. Harry was once again amazed at her foresight, and told her as much.

They trudged out of the forest. For a time they tried to make conversation, but it was all forced and they soon gave up. When he got his first view of the castle–looking just as he remembered it and quite unscarred by the battle–as the trees thinned out, he felt a tugging somewhere near his heart.

He was home.

Except not. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. This was the place of so many of his happy memories, but it was as if they had never happened. His past had been erased, eliminated, wiped out from all existence.

"We've got a blank slate–nothing good and nothing bad," Ginny murmured poetically. Harry craned to look at her and saw that she was just as wrapped up in her thoughts as he had been in his.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed before they reached the gargoyles that guarded Dumbledore's office. They tried guessing passwords, but had only named a few sweets when the statues burst into life and split apart. For a moment they believed they had guessed the right candy, but then they saw that the steps were moving_down,_ not up.

"Acid pops, did you say? Personally I prefer Treacle Tarts," said a familiar, amused voice. Four jaws dropped as the old man with the deep blue robes, long white beard, twinkling eyes, crooked nose, and half-moon spectacles descended to the lower level. Harry had to fight an affectionate grin that was slowly spreading across his face as he thought of the familiar old man before him, his hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares.

His mind raced. Dumbledore! If anyone could solve this puzzle, he could. Tell them where they were and how to get back. Pull all the strings and make them feel safe.

His euphoria drained quite suddenly as he thought of what it would be asking of Dumbledore. _Please, sir, could you help us? We know you're in the middle of a war, but we need you to protect four time travelers and spend your time finding out how and why they're here even though that's magic that no one has even seen before, let alone attempted to understand. And me? I've finally got my family back, sorry you haven't got yours. _

No, he couldn't do that to his former mentor. He scrambled for an appropriate excuse and grasped one. "Professor Dumbledore? We–er–would like to transfer to Hogwarts." He inwardly winced at the bluntness of his statement, but was careful to keep his face steady.

Blank shock flitted across the old headmaster's face, but a split second later he had neatly masked it behind a benign, gracious smile. "Then please do step into my office. I was on my way down to supper, but I dare say that can wait."

Harry smiled appreciatively, and they all began heading up the steps. He spared a glance at his friends and saw Hermione raise her eyebrows in a way that suggested he had better know what he was doing. He smiled weakly at her and she narrowed her eyes, so he averted his gaze. Ron gave him a noncommittal shrug and Ginny didn't notice his look, as she was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, but she looked to be faring much better than before.

"Now then," Dumbledore said once he had sat behind his desk and they had settled into conjured chairs in his office, "I think it would be best if I know your names."

As he waited expectantly, Harry was faced with a choice. Dare he give their real names?

"This is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and his sister Ginny Weasley, and I'm Harry Potter."

Dumbledore frowned and leaned forward, intrigued. "I wasn't aware that the Potters had any other relatives."

Heart pounding, Harry frowned, "Potters... you mean..." He swallowed and said in a low voice, "I wasn't aware that any of my relatives were still living, but I've never seen a family tree so I really wouldn't know." It wasn't a hard act to pull off–all he had to do was think of his parents and his pain became genuine.

"Still living? You mean..." Dumbledore's voice was heavy with sorrow and compassion. Harry studied his hands, unwilling to face the pity that he knew would come.

"They died when I was a baby. The Weasley's as good as adopted me."

"My dear boy," the old man spoke softly, consolingly, but Harry wanted none of it. "It is never easy to lose one you love, even harder to carry on without them, but still we live out our lives and find fullness in our friends."

Unable to stand his condolences, Harry pierced him with a steady gaze. "I learned eventually just how powerful the love we shared and the memories we formed are. I've mourned, of course, but I'm proud that they're my parents and I wouldn't trade their memory for anything."

Dumbledore had held his gaze, but presently wavered as his eyes began to grow moist. Harry looked down, but when Dumbledore spoke again it was in a kind, steady voice. "That is quite remarkable, but alas, we must get on to business. You say you'd like to transfer to Hogwarts, even though term started two weeks ago. Might I ask why?"

As thoughts of his parents flooded through him, Harry found his mind suddenly going blank even as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all turned towards him. He tried to yank himself back and give a satisfactory answer, but failed miserably. "Well, er... you see, we come from this, erm, small town and... er–"

"What Harry means to say," interrupted Hermione in an annoyed voice, "is that we used to live and learn magic in a small town that was recently attacked by Death Eaters. Naturally, we couldn't bear to simply abandon our magical education, so when we–or I, rather–found out about Hogwarts, we decided it would be the best place for us. After all, it's very well protected and examination results are the highest of any school."

Mind fogged but clearing, Harry added, "And besides, it'll be great to go somewhere with lots of other kids. It was kind of lonely, it being just the four of us learning together."

Dumbledore nodded. "What town?"

"Worcester," Hermione answered without a moments hesitation. "It's mostly muggle– I think Ron and Ginny's parents were the only magical ones there."

Dumbledore nodded again, "And you say it was attacked. What happened? How did you escape?"

Forcing down his revulsion to lying to his mentor, Harry wondered how best to pull this off. His voice was hesitant and uncertain when he replied, deliberately unfocusing his eyes and looking out the window, "We were in the middle of a Charms lesson when there was this loud bang, like an explosion or something. We didn't think much of it at first, because Ron and Ginny's older brothers had stopped in for a visit and they really like making things explode. Then we heard screams, though, and saw fire out the window.

We ran outside to find out what was going on. It was awful..." He broke off for effect, planning on continuing after a little prodding, but Ron then picked up the narrative.

"There were men in hooded black cloaks and they were crazy–horrifyingly, disgustingly crazy. They were dangling a lot of muggles in the air and casting varying curses on them just to see how they'd react, you know, for sport. There were harmless things like jelly-legs and tarantallegra, but nine times out of ten they used darker curses, particularly the unforgiveables. My mum and dad were calling for us to go back in, but I just couldn't move. And then one of them, he... he..." Ron took a deep breath, "He heard them screaming for us and sent a curse. The whole house just..."

He dropped off and Ginny finished quietly, "exploded."

There was a lengthy, heavy pause. Then Harry said, "I don't know what happened next; it was all so confusing. I didn't think it could have happened–that was like my home, they were like my parents–but at the same time, I knew I had to get away. Hermione helped me drag Ron and Ginny to safety because they kept trying to make a break towards the house. We ran into the woods and Hermione apparated us away. We've been trying to figure out where to go ever since."

They were silent for some time, each pretending to be lost in thought. Harry hoped Dumbledore would break the silence, but it dragged on and on so he finally said, "So what do you say, professor? Can we transfer?"

Dumbledore inclined his head and smiled, "I don't see why not; we'd be delighted to have you with us. Unfortunately, though, we do have to go over some rather dull topics-one of the main downfalls of switching schools." Harry almost smiled; this was more like the Dumbledore he knew. "The first topic being OWL results, your grades from previous years, your strengths and weaknesses, and so on."

"Erm," said Ginny, "we never took our OWLs, sir. Our parents had trouble clearing it with the ministry and eventually just gave up. And I don't think my parents used the same grading criteria as in the proper schools."

Harry knew from the way Dumbledore's expression froze for a moment that they had messed up their story, but he wasn't sure how. If he didn't know better, he would have assumed he'd imagined it because a second later his face was as genuine as ever. "That is unfortunate indeed." He paused. "Nevertheless, am I correct in presuming that you can tell me your best subjects."

"Of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Especially Harry, he's the best." Harry managed a modest smile, though he felt more like glaring at her. Ginny continued, "Hermione, though, she's a right genius at just about everything." Hermione blushed a magnificent shade of red.

"Excellent," Dumbledore thought for a moment and surveyed them over his half moon spectacles. "As dull and dreary as test taking may be, however, I think I'll have to give you a small test, just to make sure you won't be too far behind the others."

If he was expecting them to groan, he was quite disappointed. Harry let out a sigh of relief that all had gone so well, so far. Ginny's cheeks had started to regain their color, and it was obvious that she was looking forward to something–anything–that would remind her of what life used to be like–even taking a test. Hermione looked quite pleased (albeit nervous) and began reciting under her breath things she thought she might need to know. Ron nudged her and asked, "Think I'll need to know that food's one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?" to a general round of chuckles.

A short time later, Harry handed his stack of parchment to Dumbledore, feeling quite anxious. He had forgotten how much memorization was involved in his classes and hoped he hadn't done too poorly. Hermione had already turned hers in, and he saw that Ginny was on the last page. He glanced at Ron and, judging by his bewildered expression, he couldn't remember much, either.

Hermione was presently performing a series of spells for Dumbledore, who seemed quite impressed. Harry knew that it would soon be his turn, and he watched carefully in case Dumbledore asked him to do similar spells.

When Dumbledore thanked Hermione and told her to sit down, he stood up and pulled out his wand. Dumbledore nodded at him and said, "Well then Mr. Potter, if you would just step over here and, let me think, procure a lemon drop for me."

A lemon drop! Some things never change. Alright, he thought, let's toy with his head a bit. He nodded and pointed his wand at the desk and said "_Accio Lemon Drop!" _

He expected the little muggle sweet to fly out of the dish and into his hand, but nothing happened. He glanced at Dumbledore, who's eyebrows had shot up and who's blue eyes were twinkling merrily as though enjoying a good joke. "Anti-Accio Charm, I suppose?"

He wondered if he should summon one from somewhere else, but decided against it. He crossed the room and moved to pick one up. Not unexpectedly, his hand met with a barrier that prevented him from touching any of the candies; nor could he touch the bowl beneath it.

He raised his wand once more and, wondering if it would work on an inanimate object, thought _levircorpus!_ The little dish must not have been equipped to resist such an unorthodox spell, because it was hoisted into the air and flipped over, spilling the candies all over the desk. Harry returned all but one into the dish and handed the last one to the aged wizard.

"Here you are, sir," he said.

"Fascinating thought process," Dumbledore said, his eyes still twinkling. "I can't say anyone else has managed to do so quite as splendidly. Although I have had several call for a house elf.

"Now then, would you please make the candy tap dance across my desk?"

Harry did so and, upon prompting, also expanded it to the length of his forearm and turned it green. After setting it right, Dumbledore held it out in his hand and said, "Can I offer you a lemon drop?"

"Er, no thanks."

Dumbledore smiled and popped it in his own mouth. "On to business, then. Would you be so kind as to demonstrate the proper charm to repel a boggart?"

On the whole, it had gone reasonably well, Harry thought as he watched Ron vanish a kitten. In Defense, at least, he was sure he had passed, and was pretty confident about Charms, too. Following Ron's overzealous wand-movements with his eyes, he wondered idly what he'd find in the past. His heart beat faster as he thought of his parents. What would they think of him? Where they together yet? Was his dad still a big-headed idiot?

Ron had just finished and returned to his seat. Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and read over their tests while the teenagers fidgeted uncomfortably. After a few tense minutes he looked up, surveying them from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Alas, I daresay that all four of you are most definitely capable." Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sighed, looking relieved, but Harry didn't respond. He knew from the headmaster's voice that there was more to come. "Regardless, there is the more pressing matter of your loyalty."

The effect was instantaneous. Ginny huffed, looking quite affronted; Hermione drew her breath in quickly and stole half a glance at Harry; and Ron opened his mouth angrily. Harry, however, ignored the sting of the accusation and leveled Dumbledore with a long, steady look. "What are you saying, professor?"

"Nothing overly alarming," the old man said hastily, "And I'm certainly not accusing you. Nevertheless, it would be trusting to the point of foolishness to allow four perfect strangers into the school without at least questioning their story beforehand."

He waited, but when Harry didn't say anything, he continued, "For instance, you say that your parents," he nodded at Ron and Ginny, "and your adopted parents," he directed at Harry, "and your friends' parents and your teachers," this was aimed at Hermione, "were killed. And yet, you don't seem at all bothered when mentioning them. You don't get teary-eyed, or preoccupied, or even choke on a word. I'd expect some sort of reaction, however small it is or how emotionally strong you are. I do hope you'll forgive me for saying it, but it doesn't seem as though you're saddened by their death at all."

Harry was struck by his blunt, hurtful way of bringing it up. Surely he realized that if he was mistaken he would be causing irreparable damage? There was an element of harshness masked in the words as well, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know him well. Harry was taken aback and didn't know what to make of it, until he saw Dumbledore's eyes drift to the window with a tear beginning to form.

An image of himself yelling at Remus in Grimmauld Place flashed before him and he understood.

It was pain. Dumbledore's world had been shattered the day his sister died, and it was clear that the thought of anyone turning their back (in one way or another) on people who cared for them awoke a rush of difficult memories. The insensitivity was just a defense mechanism.

He weighed his words carefully, looking directly into the headmaster's face, but before he could speak, Ginny broke the silence with racking sobs, her shoulders shaking madly and face streaming with tears, "Sir, they wouldn't have wanted to be remembered that way! They w-were always so–so full of life and love and–and happiness! Th-they wanted to be held in our hearts, but not–not mourned! When we're happy, we are fulfilling whatever happiness they may have missed, by living our life to the fullest we are declaring that as much as we miss them, we're still living for them!"

Harry was again reminded just how difficult this must be for his friends. None of them knew if they would ever go home again, if they would ever see their families again. Ron and Hermione had known this for quite some time, of course, but it was hitting Ginny for the first time–and hard.

He moved to her side and placed his arm comfortingly around her. She leaned into his embrace and sobbed harder than ever. As he rubbed her back consolingly, he addressed the headmaster in a low voice.

"She's right, sir. They were incredible people, and the world is blessed to have had them. They lived their life, and are now continuing to live through us. It's been hard, obviously, but we can't mourn forever. They'd have been happy and proud that we are here now." As he said it, he felt it's weight. He knew that his parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, and Fred would be happy and proud at how far they'd come.

Ginny's sobs reduced, and he glanced at Ron and Hermione to see how they were faring. They were both hugging, tears streaming down their cheeks, but they were smiling.

Dumbledore looked astounded for a moment, then his face flashed with something akin to a deep, heartfelt peace, before settling on bashfulness. "I apologize," he said ruefully, "That was way out of line. And I apologize for awakening difficult memories as well. I know how difficult such losses can be," he added kindly. "You should also know that your attitude is beyond admirable, and I would be proud to accept you into Hogwarts."

Harry felt his body relax significantly, and realized only then that he had been holding is breath. Still hugging Ginny, he said, "Thank you, sir."

"You are very welcome, Mr. Potter. I believe that the only business we have left to clear up is what classes you would like to take, and then we can all head to what I'm sure is a delicious supper and get you sorted."

"Excellent, sir."


	3. The Guard and the Guarded

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy10**1

Hey, everybody! Here's the next installment of Forging Reality, so I hope you like it!

P.S. I still don't own HP. [goes away and pouts

Chapter 3

XXXXX The Guard and the Guarded XXXXX

And yet half an hour later he didn't think it was so excellent. He was pacing nervously just outside the Great Hall, where he could hear every word the headmaster said as he announced their presence to the school.

"..._and_ so please welcome: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger!"

He took a deep breath and nodded.

Ron pushed open the door.

Immediately, every head turned to where they were standing, and there was a good deal of gasps. Harry knew what they must have been thinking–who was this kid who shared looks and surname with the popular quidditch star James Potter? Why were these four teens transferring schools? Who were they really?

The crowd of students had been, for the most part, silent during the headmaster's introduction. But now, faced as they were with the new students, murmurs and whispers filled the hall like a steady hum.

Harry stared firmly ahead, refusing to search the hall for his parents, for he knew that he would be unable to tear his eyes away. After a moment that felt like an eternity, his feet reached the stairs that lay before the students. He slowly climbed them, his eyes on the patched and frayed old hat that lay at rest on a stool. The quartet gathered around it, and when Dumbledore announced, "Harry Potter," Harry stepped forward and placed it on his head.

"Hmmm," said the small voice in his ear, "Time Travel. That's fascinating. I see you're brave: a basilisk, a troll, an acromantula—Oh, good Godric! Look at this, facing Voldemort again and again... and again and again and again! Very selfless, loyal, perceptive, ambitious for sure... Look at how many times you've protected Hogwarts!

"I'm sure she'll want to hear about this... better yet, how about she sees for herself?" It seemed to be talking more to itself than to Harry, so he just waited, becoming more and more confused as the hat continued. "Yes, of course she should see this. Now," it ordered, "Mr. Potter, you wait right here while I go get Hogwarts."

Before Harry could ask what it meant, the small voice was gone and he was left to his own thoughts. He suddenly remembered that hundreds of students were watching him, and felt his face flush. Why couldn't he just be sorted into Gryffindor and be done with it?

A moment later, however, any feeling of foolishness was wiped from his mind as a warm, motherly, and yet somehow dignified voice spoke from within the hat. "Welcome, Harry Potter. It would seem as though you've done a lot for me in your past."

_I just did what it seemed I had to,_ he answered, bewildered, _Er, not to be rude or anything, but who are you?_

"Typical of the hat to not introduce my properly; he always seems to think that manners are quite useless," she muttered to herself, "I," she seemed to draw herself up in pride, and her vioce resonated a rich, full sound,"am Hogwarts. I am this castle, this school, this establishment. I am in the walls, in the portraits, in the grounds. All the students that pass through here become my children, and I watch as they grow and change and mature. And yet, despite all whom I have seen, I have never met any so... so... Oh, I can't even find an appropriate word! You're just and loyal, remarkably steadfast; you have as much courage and selflessness as Gryffindor himself; you have such a sharp mind, so perfect for connecting the dots and putting the pieces together; and you are cunning and ambitious, unbelievably so. You seem to have rather dulled the thirst to prove yourself, but it's still quite there..."

_But what does this have to do with—_

"Everything, dear boy, everything. You see, because I can think of no higher honor, or more perfect use of my services, I have decided to swear my allegiance to you."

The full impact of what she was saying hit him over the head like a ton of bricks. _Wh-what?_

"I swear my allegiance to you. If there is anything you require, if it is in my power, I will do it. I would make an excellent spy (after all, who would suspect the walls?) and I have infinite secrets and resources that, as of yet, no one has succeeded in fully unraveling. I have a thousand years of knowledge, and powerful enchantments, to make use of."

Her monologue drew to a close, and harry murmured a disbelieving, "Thanks" It was ridiculously inadequate, but he knew she could sense his stunned appreciation, which must have spoken volumes.

"And now," she said quietly after a moment, "I think it is time for you to join your classmates."

With that she was gone, but he heard a different voice announce, "GRYFFINDOR!" to the rest of the hall and, just before he slid the hat from his head, whisper, "Good luck, Harry Potter."

Dazed and exhilarated, he found himself at the Gryffindor table, beaming wildly and sweeping the sea of faces for anyone familiar. His heart sank when he noticed the lack of teenage boys with messy black hair, but as Ron put on the hat and it again cried, "Gryffindor," he was reassured by the sight of a pretty young woman with softly curling, rich red hair and friendly green eyes. She glanced his way and, catching his gaze, smiled and gave a short, friendly wave. He returned the smile and turned to congratulate Ron, just as Ginny's names was called.

"What took you so long? You were up there for ages!" Ron asked in an undertone.

"Hogwarts kinda swore her allegiance to me." Harry answered quietly, fighting a small grin.

"What?!"

"Shhh! I'll explain later."

Ginny and Hermione joined them just moments apart, and they began their meal.

Several people on both of their sides introduced themselves to quartet, and there were a good many faces that Harry recognized in addition to the many he didn't. There was short, jovial, round-faced Michelle Coran, whose name didn't ring any bells despite the fact that he could have sworn he'd met her before; tall, blond, attractive Cassie Greengrass; tiny little black-haired Morganie Dodd; and the red-haired girl who'd waved to him who was, of course, Lily Evans. He also met several 6th years: Josh Brown, Frank Longbottom, Euen Abercrombie, Lyssa Valley, Mikali Jordan, and Nikki Ross.

A few minutes into the meal, Hermione nudged him and, on the pretense of rummaging in her pocket, motioned surreptitiously toward the doors. He glanced over and felt his heart leap as he saw Sirius Black saunter out of the hall.

"Whatcha looking for, Hermione?" Ron asked, swallowing a mouthful of food.

"Nothing, just a mint."

Ron checked his pockets. "None, sorry."

"Here, I've got one," offered Josh. "It's cinnamon, and it's really hot."

"Thanks, Josh."

_**DooDooDooDi – DooDooDooDoo**_

_**DoDiDaDoo – DaaaaaaDi !**_

At the end of the meal, they followed the others to the common room. They lay around for a while, playing exploding snap and chatting comfortably. After some time, Harry started to get anxious, and found himself perpetually drumming his fingers and checking his watch, but it seemed as though no one else noticed.

"...And then, What does she do? She runs screaming to the shower and spends hours trying to wash it out. It was ages before she realized I hadn't cursed her hair at all, and by then, you know, I'd had plenty of time to get what I wanted from her diary. I had so many juicy details on her, I could blackmail her for months—up until she found out that...er, well, in any event, I had lots of blackmail on her." Harry realized with a regretful pang that he had missed almost all of his mother's tale, and forced himself to stay with the conversation.

"Aw, come on Lily, you can't honestly expect us to ignore an invitation like that, can you?" Cassie demanded with a mock-dropped jaw. "Go on, spill!"

"Don't hold your breath," Lily warned haughtily, then asked Ron pointedly, "So what about you, Ron? What's your family like?"

Ron darted a nervous, questioning look at Hermione, who rolled her eyes and gestured impatiently. He took a deep breath. "You want the whole run-down? Dad's crazy about muggles—you should have seen him pounce on poor Harry the first time he came over," he immitated Mr. Weasley's curiosity-piqued demand: "'Tell me, what is exactly the purpose of a rubber duck?'"

The timetravelers, Lily, Euen, and Nikki all laughed, but the others stared blankly until Mikkali asked, "What _is_the point of a rubber duck?" and Josh asked, "_What_ is a rubber duck?"

"They're bath toys for muggle kids," Lily explained.

There was a pause, then Frank prodded Ron, "Any other crazies in your family?"

"Let's me think, we've got Bill, but all he's got going in the crazy department is his long hair and fang earring--"

"Is he hot?" Cassie demanded earnestly.

"He's married."

Cassie let off a string of furious curse words, saying how "she never has any luck."

"And then there's Charlie, who runs off playing with dragons all the time; and Percy's crazy when it comes to rules; and Fred," his voice almost cracked, but he plowed on, "Fred and George run a joke shop. Then there's Ginny, and of course she's about as crazy as it's possible to get." Ginny smacked him. "And we all do our best to drive our dear old mum crazy."

There was a pause. "That's a big family," Josh said.

Another pause, then Lyssa broke it incredulously, "Wait, back up! So you and Ginny are brother and sister?!"

They stared at her. Euen assured the four of them, "Don't worry, she's short—a lot goes over her head."

After the laughter had died down a bit, Michelle asked, "So what about you, Harry?"

He stared, not realizing for a moment that they didn't know his past. When it hit, he dreaded the answer he'd have to give. Did he really have to face the pity again? Unless... "Er, being an only child, I haven't got much to say, but... My mom's talented, smart, pretty... My dad's quite the prankster. They're both pretty amazing."

The others stared at him; finally, Lyssa said, "You're a teenager; you're allowed to hate them."

_That_ caught him by surprise. "What?!"

"You're_allowed_ to hate them," she emphasized, rolling her eyes. "You don't have to be the perfect son and spout off how wonderful they are."

Harry was indignant. "But they _are _wonderful! They've done incredible things, they've given everything to help me and to get rid of Voldemort," many jumped, and Nikki even shrieked, but Harry ignored them, "_And _I know they love me very much! Do you think I take all that for granted?!"

Lyssa's eyes were wide. "I—No, I—Sorry, it's just, the way you said it... it sounded like, like you were just repeating what someone told you, or..."

Looking into her pale, scared face, he suddenly found himself standing up and breathing heavily. He felt his cheeks flush with shame and sat down. "S'okay. I understand... I didn't mean to get so defensive. Sorry."

There was an awkward silence. Hermione broke it and generously pulled the attention away from Harry. "_My_parents are both dentists." Just as she started to launch into a dramatic tale, Harry shot her a grateful look and put his arm around Ginny, sinking back into the shadows of the conversation and simply enjoying the occasion. He loved to watch his mum interacting with her friends, her smile easy and eyes laughing.

_**Dun! Dun!**_

"I'm beat," Nikki said at last as the conversation drew to a close, "I think it's about time I hit the sack."

"I'm right behind you," Lyssa said immediately, and continued with a theatrical, tragic air, "I was beginning to think no one would _ever_ call it quits for the night."

Soon only the time travelers and Cassie were left. Cassie yawned widely and stretched. "You girls coming up, too?" She asked Ginny and Hermione.

Ginny grabbed her arm and pulled her over to her, saying in an undertone as she did so, "We'll be up in a few. Give us some time to say 'night to our boyfriends."

Ron and Harry exchanged thrilled grins.

Cassie said, "Okey-dokey. See ya in a few!" With a huge smile and an exaggerated wink, she disappeared up the stairs.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ginny stopped smiling. "Okay guys," she said, suddenly business-like, "What do we need to take care of tonight?"

"We need textbooks, quills, ink, parchment, and robes," Hermione supplied immediately, "And sooner or later the Marauder's Map is going to be a problem. We'll need to go to the laundry, for sure, but I don't know where we can get the rest."

"Doesn't the library have the books?" Ron asked, surprised.

"It's past midnight," Hermione answered with a roll of the eyes, "It'll be locked."

"Ever hear of an Invisibility cloak?"

"I—of course I have, I just don't think—don't think that..." She struggled to regain her composure.

"I broke in easily enough as a first year," Harry reminded her quietly, before they started arguing, "And this time we won't have to worry about screaming books from the restricted section."

She sighed. "I suppose that'll have to do. What can we do about quills, ink, and parchment?"

"None in that fabulous bag of yours?" Ron asked with a nod toward her handbag. Hermione shook her head.

"What about the Room of Requirement?" Ginny asked, "If that can supply everything but food..."

A fire suddenly flared up, and a warm voice whispered, "If you wish it, Sir Harry Potter, I could provide the items you require."

The four started. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny looked bewildered, but it took only a moment for Harry to understand. "Yes, please, Hogwarts," he said gratefully, "that would be perfect."

Several pairs of freshly laundered robes, parchment, ink, quills, books... everything they needed appeared on the table before them.

"Thanks, Hogwarts," Harry addressed the fire.

"What on earth was that, Harry?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"I meant to tell you," he said with an embarrassed grin, "That's what took so long when I was being sorted: The hat thought Hogwarts should meet me and, you know, see the things I've done to protect her. Then she told me that she 'swore her allegiance' to me, that she put herself in my power. That was her."

They were dumbstruck and clearly impressed. It was a while before they could talk again, Hermione stammering, "I-I don't think that- that anything like that has ever—_ever—_happened before—Harry, you must be the first!"

"That's incredible! Wow, if we'd had her allegiance last year—when you guys were gone—we could've... Wow!"

"I wonder..." said Ron, pondering, "I wonder _why_she didn't. I mean, clearly, everything you've done as of now is no different than what you'd done then. Why..."

"Something important must have happened in that battle. My guess would probably be Harry willingly going to his death, or his bravely facing Voldemort..."

"You're looking at it too much like a Gryffindor, Hermione," Harry interrupted with a slight smile. "You're forgetting that this is Hogwarts we're talking about. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff,andSlytherin. Slytherin's values were different. I bet," he paused, thinking it through, "that if she'd sworn her allegiance to me back home, she'd have seen it as swearingagainstSlytherin's heir. Here, though, she sees my new memories—those from this past year—and I think she sees our mission, and the things we've done to get what we need," he paused to see if they understood. They looked as blank as ever. He sighed.

"We didn't allow anything to stop us. We used disguises to break into the Ministry of Magic. We went to the least safe place—Grimmauld Place—because it was the mostsafe place. We planned to take advantage of Griphook, trick him into helping us and then not giving him what he wanted in return. I, at least, was determined to find out about the Hallows, and Dumbledore."

Hermione's eyes had already lit up with realization, and Ron seemed to be close. Ginny was clearly struggling with trying to piece the shattered fragments of stories he'd told. He ran a hand through his hair. He didn't have the energy to explain more. "We were prepared to do just about anything to get what we want, and that's a Slytherin quality."

"And the things we did to get what we wanted were cunning, and our goal was ambitious," Hermione added, reflecting.

"Exactly. Not to mention, seeing my memories of how scared Voldemort was of death, she may have decided that the Slytherin part of her could be fully justified in disowning him." They were silent for some time. "Let's go to bed. We've got what we need."

And so they grabbed supplies and parted ways. Harry watched as the girls disappeared into their dorm, and then, begging for confidence, went to his own.

He hesitated outside the door. His hand hovered traitorously. It wouldn't push it open or draw away, however much he tried. His heart thumped madly: a pounding drum, a measure of his fear.

"Harry, you've fought You-Know-Who," Ron said in a low voice that held a nervous chuckle. "You can handle a few teenagers, can't you? I mean, after everything we've done, we're going back to school. This should be easy, right?" He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry.

Harry didn't answer, but in the silence a voice drifted out from the dorm. "Are you sure there're transfers, Padfoot? It's past midnight."

"No, Prongs, I'm not sure!" growled an answering voice. "All I know is that Dumbledore said there'd be Seventh Year transfers this year. Then they were sorted into Gryffindor. What with this being theSeventh Year Gryffindor Dorm, I assumed they'd be in here."

"Relax! You're strung tighter than Mooney without his chocolate!"

"I have a right to be angry whenever I want!"

"Not with me over something I can't control!" James sounded frustrated, angry. "Look, you're probably reading way too much into this anyway. So there's transfers. Big deal! So we might need to lay low on midnight outings 'til we know they won't rat on us. We might need a new place to plan pranks, or have someone babysit the new kids on full moons. We can handle all that. Point is, it's not like someone died, or Remus has been thrown out, or we're in the middle of a big fight. We're the Marauders! Best friends through thick and thin! We're not going to let a couple of newbies get in the way of that!"

There was a long, heavy pause. Eventually, there was a muffled _Pfff_, like the sound of pillow hitting face, and Sirius said lightly, "You talk too much."

James' voice was suddenly happy and hopeful, like he was either distracted or trying to lighten the mood, "Hey! Did that sound mature? Like, you know, if Lily heard me...?"

It worked. Sirius snorted. "Heard you all disappointed they're here, and needing to lay low in case they rat? Are you joking? She'd lecture you about making them feel welcome, taking them under your wing and all that junk. Then she'd say we need to stop the pranks altogether, and we need to stop hating Snivillus, and—"

James was indignant. "You know perfectly well she hasn't stood up for that snake since fifth year!"

"Then she'd say we should get all chummy with the Slytherins, or something equally ridiculous."

James protests were lost in the sounds of a quiet commotion coming from downstairs: a low gasp and a series of thuds.

"We should go in before we're found eavesdropping," Ron whispered with a nervous glance towards the stairs.

Harry took a deep breath. "Here goes."

He pushed open the door. The two boys inside looked up, both with pillows raised mid-swing, as if fighting. Neither one dropped their pillow, and Harry was struck with the image of a child showing his parents the crayon drawings on the wall and waiting to see if he'd be scolded or praised.

"Er, Seventh Year dorms?"

"You bet."

Silence.

"I'm Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley."

That put an end to the silence. "You're a Potter?" James burst out, echoed a moment later by a "Really?" from Sirius. Both dropped the pillows, and they lay forgotten on the floor.

"I didn't know their were Potters I hadn't met!" Exclaimed James. "I'm a Potter, too, by the way. James Potter, at your service," he stood up and bowed elaborately.

"I'm_practically_ a Potter," Sirius said, not one to be shunted to the side, "Just not by blood. Sirius Black." For all his friendly tone, his eyes seemed searching—gaging their reactions to the notoriously dark last name, Harry realized with a jolt.

"Nice to meet—"

"Not to be rude," a new voice interrupted Ron, "But who are you?" Harry and Ron spun around to see two boys paused at the top of the stairs: a short, mousy haired boy and a taller boy with sand-colored hair. Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. Both smiled, but it was Remus who had spoken.

As they came closer, Ron said, "Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. We just transferred to Hogwarts."

Blank shock flitted across Remus and Peter's features, but within a moment Remus shot the others a we'll-talk-later look and smiled again. "It's a pleasure. I'm Remus Lupin, and possibly the most level-headed, well-mannered, and smartest of the group."

"Also making him the party-pooper," James stage-whispered to Ron and Harry.

"Those two," Remus indicated Sirius and James with a mock glare, "are the idiots behind most of the pranks we pull."

"Hey!" James responded indignantly, "We prefer 'masterminds,'"

"Or at the very least 'prats' and 'gits,'" Sirius added, scowling, "'Idiots,' is so... so... preschool!"

Remus talked loudly over them, "And this is Peter Pettigrew, master liar and alibi maker. He's all that keeps these two out of detentions all day every day."

Ron's eyes flashed with anger. Stepping on his foot and giving him a meaningful glare, Harry changed the subject. "Looks like they can give Fred and George a run for their money."

"Who are Fred and George," Sirius asked, his curiosity piqued.

"They're," Ron started, but instead of finishing he made a choking sound and turned rather pale.

Fighting past the lump in his throat and the image of Fred lying dead, Harry whispered hoarsely, "Ron's brothers. They're twins and quite the pranksters."

A very pregnant pause stifled more light-hearted conversation. "I..." It was no wonder that the Marauders knew something was up, as much as Harry wished they didn't. "I seriously doubt—no Padfoot, no Sirius jokes!" James glared at his friend, then turned back to Ron and Harry. "I _honestly_ doubt anyone could give us a run for our money, but, erm, what's wrong?"

Harry and Ron looked helplessly back at each other. "No one else knows except Dumbledore," Harry said, "But the reason we're here... the reason we transferred... is because we all were learning magic at Ron's house when Death Eater's attacked. Nearly everyone, twins included, died." Harry hated lying about all this, but how else could it be explained?

"That's awful," Remus breathed.

"How did you escape?" Sirius asked.

Ron fidgeted, "We weren't in the house when it... exploded. We all ran and made it safely into the woods."

There was a short pause, then Peter said, "You keep saying 'we all.' Who is 'all'?"

This was easier, at least. "Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and I. The girls are in the other dorm."

In a determinedly lighter voice, Sirius asked, "So you say that Fred and George were pretty good at pranking? Am I to take that to mean that you don't pull any pranks yourself?"

"Um, well... See..."

"Are you kidding?!" Ron cut across Harry loudly, "We've been breaking rules since we met!"

James and Sirius looked delighted. "Go on, regal us with tales of your adventures, young grasshoppers!"

"Well..." Harry stopped. "Hold on, you watch muggle movies?"

"But of course, dear tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum," Sirius said dramatically. "After all, John Tucker Must Die!"

"Usually only the ones with hot girls," James said serously, "Now enthrall us with your stories!"

Harry shot his friend a look that, he hoped, said quite plainly that he'd better know what he was doing. Ron just looked annoyed and rolled his eyes at him. "There was this time—we were, what, twelve? – and my dad had this muggle car that he bewitched so it could fly. It was purely a possibility, see, cause he worked in the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and couldn't actually fly it, but all the same I don't know how he expected us to just leave it there..."

James and Sirius had adopted twin looks of longing. "Merlin," said James, "Can you imagine what we could do with one of those?"

"Think we can borrow it sometime?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"Not a chance. We crashed it into a tree that hits back." Ron said, grinning as James and Sirius winced.

"And then the gigantic spiders got a hold of it, right Ron?" Harry prompted.

"Ugh! Don't remind me!"

"Now this sounds like a good tale!" said Sirius, ecstatic.

"We won't say a word until you share some of your stories," Ron said confidently and firmly.

Just before launching into a full-scale rundown, Sirius looked at James and said, "You know what, Prongs? I think these newbies are alright after all."

Harry beamed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey everybody! Hope you like it.

Now, Sile Ni Dhionnlibin has alerted me that John Tucker Must Die and The Karate Kid hadn't come out yet. However, I would prefer to keep writing than search for replacement quotes, so I'm leaving you readers with two options. Either a) you can just pretend that they came out back then--because I can have artistic liberties, or whatever the phrase is-- or b) you can provide me with replacement quotes.

Sorry, but that's the best I'm giving.

God bless


	4. The Many Oddities of Harry Potter

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 4**

**The Many Oddities of Harry Potter**

**Bonjour, everybody!**

**I'm finally back, but you should know, just for the record, that my updates are going to be pretty slow because, after the third chappie, I hadn't had much written out ahead of time.**

**On a different note, a thousand thanks to every single one of my reviewers (I GOT 9 REVIEWS!!!)  
and a million to Sile Ni Dhiohnnlibin who pointed out an error  
and to Yalith's Wolf–who's review I absolutely loved**

**Also, a special thanks to _everybody_ who contributed to my hit rate! (1027 when I posted this!)  
ie, everyone reading this**

**Another Disclaimer:**I am currently saving up to buy Harry's left shoe, but until then, the wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, nota 14- year-old kid seeking entertainment. O.K., fine, not even this disclaimer is mine, I based it off one I read somewhere—but hey! Whatever floats my boat, right? So during this story I'm _pretending _that I own Harry Potter, while distinctly saying that I don't. Genius, huh?

And now, onto the fic

Yay!

When Harry woke up the next morning, bright sunlight was casting warmth on his cheeks and a red glow on his closed eyelids. It was warm and comfortable, and he attempted in vain to slip back to sleep even as reality settled in around him. He thought about his meetings with his parents and their friends. Had it all been a dream? Would he open his eyes to find he was back in the tent?

Loud whispers above him broke the silence, "Count of three, ready?"

"As always."

"One...two..thr—"

Understanding immediately that he didn't want to know what they were 'ready' for, Harry reacted purely on instinct. He sprang from his bed, sprinted a few feet, drew his wand, and spun around just before the unknown voice had finished saying "three."

"What the—" The speaker was shocked, and slow to react. _Good,_ thought Harry, that would give him the upper hand... Or it would if it weren't for the fact that he was blind. The room was hazy, but he could see enough to tell that they stood between him and what he assumed was the bedside table and, therefore, his glasses.

He squinted at two blurry figures, his wand still raised, and demanded, "Who are you? What are you doing?"

From somewhere behind him, Ron mumbled sleepily, "Harry? What's going on?"

Good, he thought, he wasn't alone. "Ron, get up. I don't know what's going on, but I might need help."

"No, no, don't—it's just us, Sirius and James. Remember?" Sirius sounded placating, bewildered, and a little scared all at the same time. "You're at Hogwarts, you transferred here yesterday... We stayed up late talking about pranks. Come on, you can relax; it's just us."

Both relief and shame instantly swamped Harry. He lowered his wand and stowed it in his pocket before grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It's early and I don't take too well to being surprised."

"So we noticed," grumbled James.

Harry fetched his glasses and clambered back into bed, leaning against the headboard and watching his father and godfather carefully, a small smile threatening to spread. "I take it you were trying to pull a prank?"

Now they looked sheepish. James said, "Yeah. Couldn't help it. There you were, sleeping so peacefully and not suspecting a thing... How'dja move so fast, anyway?"

"Reflexes," Harry said simply. "We've had a tough year."

They didn't question this; in fact, they looked awkward, as if they didn't particularly like the way the conversation was going. Harry decided to rescue them and change the subject. "What were you planning, anyway?"

"Nothing too bad," Sirius shrugged. "Just a bucket of cold water and a rude wakeup. And maybe a little bit of singing ant breakfast."

"Not too bad?!" Harry exclaimed, aghast. "Compared with what, murder?"

Their indignant replies were drowned out as Remus, glancing up as he turned the page of his book, said lightly from across the room, "You should see some of the worse pranks they pull. This was actually pretty tame."

"Besides, I wouldn't consider brewing and drinking Polyjuice Potion and posing as a guy's best friends to get dirt on him completely harmless... or legal," Sirius said, smirking.

"The circumstances called for it," harry said firmly. "We thought he was... er, bullying people."

Ron must have thought it was time to add to the conversation, because he said, "No, we already knew he was bullying people. We wanted to know if he was doing something _more."_ The Mauraders glanced at one another, but with a look at his face decided not to press for details.

"Look, whatever the circumstances, you can't blame us," said James, grinning a cheesy smile, "We're pranksters at heart and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Is that right?" Harry asked innocently. When James nodded, he asked, "Not even this?" and chucked a pillow at him.

James, or course, responded in like, and the ensuing pillow fight was not one to miss. Considering they were up against four Quidditch players, Remus and Peter were slaughtered, but for the most part the rest were reasonably well matched.

_Doo-do-Doo-do-Dooo-Oooo!_

Eventually, stomachs growling in hunger, they went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Overjoyed once more at having plenty of food to eat, Harry and Ron dug in, followed closely by the Mauraders. Not much later, the girls came and joined them, continuing a conversation with the other seventh years—Michelle, Cassie, Morganie, and Lily—as they all sat down together.

It seemed as though the seventh year girls were oblivious to where they were sitting, so caught up were they in their conversation about various concerts they'd gone to and what type of music they like. This suspicion was confirmed when Lily, reaching for some bacon, caught sight of Harry and Ron.

"Oh, hey guys! How's it going?" As she turned to look at them properly, she froze at the sight of the Mauraders. She glared before pointedly turning her gaze more firmly on Harry and Ron.

"Oh, erm, pretty good. You?" Harry answered, a bit put out by this behavior.

She must have seen his discomfort, because her gaze softened and she smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not mad at you. It's just... the Mauraders and I don't get along very well."

Harry glanced at James, who was scowling and picking at his pancakes. "I see, but... why not?"

"Because they're always bullying people and pulling humiliating pranks on people, and their really arrogant—" Her voice, only vaguely irritated at first, was now nearing a level of anger and vehemence that didn't even attempt to hide her hatred.

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. What do you say to a teenage girl who hates the one she's destined to be with? What do you say to your_mother_ who hates your _father_? All the same, he decided it was time to cut off her tirade.

"You know, he's got a lot of good qualities, too."

"Oh, right!" Lily said with a cutting bit of vicious sarcasm. "I s'pose you're thinking of how he's a _brilliant_ Quidditch player! Or that he's got _such_ a sense of humor!"

"Actually, no." Harry spoke quietly, trying to defend his father as well as placate her and get her to open her eyes. Easier said than done, he decided. "It was more that he's fiercely loyal to his friends and those he cares about, he's strong-willed and brave, devoted and passionate."

There was silence. Words failed Lily Evans. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and her fork clattered onto her plate. She ignored it. A faint flush crept into her cheeks for the barest of seconds, but almost immediately thereafter her face hardened. "That doesn't excuse his bullying people."

"No, it doesn't," Harry acknowledged, "But it does mean that there's more to him than what you've said. Just give him a chance to prove it. That's all I ask."

Harry allowed himself to glance at James, who was staring at him open-mouthed,

"I—you... Thanks," he stammered, looking dazed. "I—that was,,, How do you... How do you know me so well?"

Harry's eyes widened, and around the table he felt more than saw his fellow time-travellers tense. Once again, he'd dug himself into a hole. "I'm not bad at reading people," he said stiffly.

And with that he grabbed his book bag and left the hall, leaving behind a half-eaten breakfast and more than a few shocked teenagers.

_Doodoodoo—DooDoo!_

Harry cursed himself the whole way out. That had been really, incredibly stupid. He'd almost exposed them already, even though he already knew his parents got together of their own accord and didn't need him to help it along—if they hadn't, he wouldn't be there.

Unless... Doubts ravaged his mind. Unless he was supposed to be there, to make sure it all happened correctly. Now that was a sickening thought: his job was to make sure his parents were betrayed and Sirius condemned... and Harry himself sentenced to a miserable childhood with the Dursleys.

Could fate be more cruel? Wasn't it enough that his life had been stolen and manipulated because of some stupid prophecy and so he could defeat Voldemort? Did he have to watch it play out again and again, even have a hand in orchestrating it?

_DoooooooooooDo!_

"Um, excuse me, young man? Sir Harry Potter?" He jumped, jolted back to full consciousness as violently as if he'd just been rudely awoken from a deep sleep. He looked around in bewilderment, trying to figure out where he was and who had spoken.

He identified the corridor as the way back to the Gryffindor Tower. The speaker was portrait of a wizened old man playing poker, and obviously losing to the three other men he was playing with.

The old man in the portrait spoke again. "Hogwarts wants me to tell you that your Transfiguration lesson starts in fifteen minutes, in classroom 23 on the second floor. Why she's bothering to tell the likes of you, I don't know, but—" He stopped and grimaced. "Yes, yes, whatever you say, Hogwarts," he said, subdued and no longer addressing Harry.

"Great, thanks," Harry said. Fifteen minutes would be plenty of time to make it on time. But why had he been going to the Gryffindor Tower? What had he wanted?

He pondered even as he turned around and headed to his class. It hit him as he was surrounded by a mass of giggling, chatting, raucous students.

He couldn't do this. The war had changed him, aged him, and he couldn't handle being back here. All around him, people didn't care about anything more than appearances and petty fights; and he was left to worry about the fate of the world.

He had to watch events played out, eventually leading up to the Halloween when his parents were killed.

He couldn't do anything to save the people around him who were doomed to horrible ends: his parents, the Mauraders, the Longbottoms...

And when they returned to their own time, they'd have to cope with whatever havoc Voldemort had wrecked in their absence.

_Da! da-Da! DaDAaDaADa!_

By the time he reached classroom 23, there was still a minute or two left until the bell rang. He sat down near the back next to Remus, directly in front of James and Sirius and behind Lily and Ginny. Looking around, he saw that Peter and Morganie were sitting together and had turned to talk to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was trying hard to look politely interested, he could tell, but was also doing her best not to look at Pettigrew anymore than was strictly necessary. Ron looked faintly disgusted and, when he thought no one was looking, kept shooting glares at the rat.

"Hey, Harry."

"Hey, Remus."

"Listen, I—"

He was cut off as Professor McGonagall called the class to attention. "Okay, class, you just had breakfast and plenty of time to talk. I need your attention up here; we've got an important lesson today."

Regretfully, Remus turned from Harry to the front of the room to listen more closely. Once the class had quieted, Professor McGonagall continued, "Much Better. Now then, taking into consideration the war that is going on, and how, being seventh years, many of you will be asked to join it soon, I have decided we will spend some time covering Transfiguration in duels."

Immediately the entire atmosphere of the room changed. Nearly everyone abruptly became attentive and excited. Harry could almost hear them thinking, "Finally, an interesting lesson." He, the other time-travellers, and a rare few around the room were the only ones to take this seriously.

He felt suddenly irritated. Didn't they realize that this wasn't a game? That what she was teaching them could very well impact who lives and who dies? Couldn't they see how important this was?

McGonagall was talking again, posing a question to the class. "—examples of how it might be used?"

A few hands flew into the air, including Hermione's, Lily's, and a handful of Ravenclaws'. "How about Miss..." She consulted a piece of parchment, "Granger?"

With an endearingly familiar tone, Hermione recited, "In a duel, Transfiguration is best used as a distraction because a transfigured object can penetrate most shields, so it would effectively demand an opponents concentration and give the caster time to disarm, stun, or otherwise defeat his opponent and win the duel."

"Very good, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor. Does anyone have more to add? Mr. Dakar?"

The Ravenclaw shook his head, "No, Professor, I think she said it all."

"Mr. Potter?"

As Harry opened his mouth to answer, his father said smoothly, "Nothing more to say, Professor."

"And you, Mr. Potter, look like you have something to add...?"

This time it was directed at Harry. He thought back to the trip to the ministry in his fifth year. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pushed away the pain and guilt of Sirius' death, concentrating instead on the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. "You could use Transfiguration to take control of a situation, couldn't you? Like, a Transfigured statue could, say, fight or trap an opponent, especially if you're outnumbered. Or you could use the Transfigured object to directly attack your opponent because they probably wouldn't expect it, would they?" There was something more... something important... "Oh, yeah! You could also Transfigure something to protect you from a curse, like the Avada Kedavra."

When he mentioned the Killing Curse, McGonagall started violently, staring at Harry as though not sure what to make of him. The moment passed, and she shook herself to regain her composure. "That was... very well informed. Ten points to Gryffindor. I'm impressed that homeschooling would get that indepth." She turned to address the class as a whole, "Now then, as you have heard, there are several different tactics with which..."

As she continued, Harry's attention was diverted as Remus, just barely audible, whispered, "Where did you learn all that?"

Harry'd expected this to come up sooner or later and breathed back just as quietly, "DADA's always been my best subject, and I pick up that kind of stuff pretty easily."

"So do you still have the book you got it from?" Remus whispered, not letting the matter drop. "I'd like to learn more, if you do."

"Sorry, but I don't even remember which book I got it from, and I know I wouldn't have brought it here."

Remus turned his attention back to McGonagall to hide his disappointment.

The lesson ended without further hitch. The class had moaned and groaned when they found out they wouldn't actually be dueling until they'd covered the theory, and had done so even more when they were assigned an essay on different strategies that incorporated Transfiguration.

As they'd filed out of the Room 23, Harry distincly felt McGonagall's eyes on him, and was fully aware that she was likely to inform Dumbledore of everything he'd said.

_DoooDo-do-do!_

"So is it true?" asked Hermione quietly as she fell into step beside him.

"What?"

"That Transfiguration can block the Avada Kedavra?"

Her voice was low, but so insistant that Harry knew it had been driving her mad all class.

"Dumbledore did. In the Depar—In fifth year." He shrugged, hoping he sounded nonchalent, but couldn't help glancing over at Sirius.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," Hermione hissed, a familiar fervor in her eyes once again. "If we'd known that—now that we know it—just think what we can do! Oh, I've got to get to the library... there's bound to be _something."_

She suddenly stopped her rant, frowned, and turned to face him more fully, concern written all over her face.

She sounded regretful. "OH, Harry, I'm so sorry. Here I am, going on about academics when this whole ordeal's got to be so hard on you. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," he lied, but when she failed to look convinced, he said, "Drop it, Hermione. Now's not the time anyway. I'm fine, honest."

And with that, he slid into Charms and set down his books next to Ron.

---

Just a few minutes later, he received a huge shock.

They were reviewing Cheering Charms, nothing new, but when Harry reached for his wand, he pulled out the _wrong wand. _

Bemused, he examined it more closely.

It was long and thick, powerfully built, and, as he held it, he felt a surge of strength rush through him: hands, arms, torso, head, legs, feet...

And it was made of _Elder_.

---

He knew with absolute certainty what it was he held, and as he reached this conclusion, time slowed.

In a flurry of short clips, the wand was showing him its history. With surreal fascination, he watched as images swam before his eyes—duel after duel, most with a bloody end, a few brutal murders while the victim's back was turned... At last, he saw Dumbledore and Grindelwald; Dumbledore and Malfoy; he, Harry, and Malfoy... then there was the duel between Harry and Voldemort: he saw the wand, already won, dueling against its master because its master wanted a fair fight... It was won again and flew, high and dark against the lightening sky, until it reached its master's unconscious form...

Then the scene went black and Harry returned to the present.

The Elder Wand... He was the true owner of the Elder Wand...

It was a difficult concept to get his mind around, even though he'd imagined—longed for—such a thing so many times before.

Even harder to understand was the irrifutable realization that he didn't want it anymore. It was, he thought, nothing but trouble. Didn't he have enough trouble to be getting on with?

Still, though... If it helped get rid of Voldemort...

He fished in his pockets for the blackthorn wand. It was there, too, just the same as he'd remembered it.

As he was staring at it, a sudden thought struck him, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Was it possible...?

Hardly daring to hope, he verified that Flitwick was kept preoccupied on the far side of the room, and pulled out the snapped remains of his old holly wand.

He lay them on his desk, ignoring Ron as he said, "What are you...?"

He pointed the Unbeatable Wand at his broken one and murmured, "_Reparo!_"

Instantly, his wand resealed itself. He picked it up and felt a warmth beneath his fingers as hand and wand were reunited.

A few golden sparks flew out the end and he stiffled the sudden urge to laugh.

"Harry, did you...?" Ron was staring at him, his mouth

hanging open.

"Stop staring, Ron," he whispered as he slipped the extra two wands away. "I'll explain to you and the girls when we're alone."

"I hope you're not missing the lesson, boys," said Flitwick cheerfully from behind them. "Results have shown that many students forget how to do Cheering Charms by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around."

"No, Professor."

"Then go on, let's see it."

_Di!Di-i!DiDiDiDiDiDIIII!_

They only had Care of Magical Creatures after lunch, and afterwards Harry found himself blissfully enjoying spending the afternoon wandering around the grounds with his friends, his parents, and their friends.

Dinner time rolled around, and Harry couldn't help but to feel truly at home: he was surrounded by family and friends, and back at Hogwarts, where he belonged.

He pushed worries about the future to the back of his mind—he had a chance to get to know his parents. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted?

He smiled, reminiscing about the hours spent sitting before the Mirror of Erised, the ages spent in his cupboard at the Dursleys, wishing some unknown relative would come and take him away...

"Harry? Harry? Are you all right?"

He jumped, as if electrocuted. He automatically reached for his wand, looking around wildly.

"Harry, it's me, Lyssa."

"Oh, right," he said. "Hey Lyssa. What's going on?"

She giggled. "You've been staring at your plate for ten minutes. It might be solid gold, but it's not _that_ interesting."

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what...?" She coaxed.

"About... home, I guess."

She smiled sympathetically. "You must miss them."

He shrugged, a wistful smile on his face. "I'm glad Ron, Hermione and Ginny are here. I'd be pretty lost without them."

"So where is home?"

"H—Worcester." He just barely caught himself. He didn't think she noticed.

"How do you like Hogwarts so far?"

"It's great. The castle's great, the kids are great, the professors are great—if this keeps up, I'm probably in for the best year of my life. Mind you, last year didn't exactly offer much competition."

She didn't respond to that. She just grinned and offered him the plate of mashed potatoes.

"You gonna make the plate more interesting?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Harry loaded his plate and looked around him for the first time.

Hermione was talking to Lily and Michelle about what they wanted to be after they left school.

"--I'd really rather not go into law enforcement, or work in any other part of the ministry, to tell the truth," Hermione was saying. "I'd prefer something much more rewarding, something that accomplishes something _good_. I'm getting pretty sick of everyone pointing fingers at the people who are actually trying to do something."

Lily nodded her agreement. "I know what you mean. Personally, I'm thinking about being a healer, but I don't know if I can just sit back while everyone else is fighting. One way or another, it'd drive me mad."

"I already know I can't just watch everyone else fight," said Michelle, "I'm going to be an Auror. I mean, come on, yeah the ministry's going to make mistakes. Yeah, they'll screw somethings up. But when you think about it, it _is_ led by people who want to see the Wizarding World profiting. They're going to try hard to bring that about. They're fighting a difficult war, and we need to stay unified under a strong central government, or else the Death Eaters' job will be that much simpler."

Harry shook his head. Hermione, at least, might be able to convince her otherwise, but the truth was, until she saw something to make her realize the Ministry was more flawed than she thought, she had no reason to change her mind.

He looked at Ron, who was talking Quidditch strategies with James and Sirius. Peter, Remus, Morganie, and Cassie were all discussing the next Hogsmeade weekend, which apparently was in two weeks.

Ginny, he saw, looked furious and kept shooting glares at Lyssa and him. Shocked, he stared at her in confusion, but she just rolled her eyes at him and turned her glare to her plate, mashing her fork into her food with savage enthusiasm.

_What had he done?_

_**AN: I think I should let you know that this story has MINIMAL ROMANCE. I have little desire to read, let alone write, a load of mushy junk. I'm sticking with canon pairings because I don't want to deal with that many breakups, heartache, etc. Plus, I happen to like the pairings.**_

_**God Bless!**_


	5. Loving Life, Living Love

Forging Reality

by DitzyDizzyDessy101

Chapter 5

Living Love, Loving Life

If he was confused then, it was nothing to how he felt when Ginny threw down her fork and stormed from the Hall without looking at him, her face ridden with fury and frustration.

Bewildered he looked helplessly at Hermione. "What did I--"

"Harry, go!" He didn't get any sympathy, but at least he got a clue to what to do. "Follow her, find out what's wrong!" She commanded, exasperated.

He stood up uncertainly, and made his way to the door. He quickened his pace. What had he done? How could he remedy it if he didn't even know what was wrong?

He saw Ginny up ahead, her robes flowing behind her as she whipped around the corner. He started running.

She sped up, but he was faster. She flew into a classroom, no doubt hoping to hide, but he chased after her and managed to cornered her. "Ginny! What's going on?"

She turned away from him and made for the door, but he blocked her path.

"Let me out!" she snarled, her eyes blazing.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Let me out!" she repeated with more vehemence.

"Ginny! I need to know!"

"You want to know what's on my mind? Fine! I'm hurt and angry. I've spent years waiting for you, Potter, years! And then you finally notice me, give me a little piece of the heaven I've been missing, only to take it all away again, saying it's not _safe!_ And when I finally get you back, you know what happens? You act as if nothing happened! As if I'm just Ron's little sister again!" She stopped, and the only sound in the room was that of her ragged breathing. "Just tell me, Potter," She said, her voice quiet but her eyes flashing, "Tell me where I stand."

She was furious, but she wasn't crying—thank Merlin she wasn't the sort to cry. But all the same, Harry was at a loss.

He loved her. He knew that—that was one of the few certainties in his life. If anything, the time away from her had strengthened that. And, much as he tried to squash the feeling, he felt irrevocably relieved and thrilled that she still loved him.

But was it safe yet? The Voldemort from their time was still out there; and the one from the past was gaining power. But shouldn't they be protected? No one knew who they were. This Voldemort had nothing against him. The Voldemort from their time had no way of knowing where they were. They were safe for the time being—but for how long?

"Ginny," he said bleakly, "I love you. More than anything." She started to protest furiously, but he held up a hand for her to stop. "Just give me time to explain." He looked her in the eye. "I, Harry Potter, love you, Ginny Weasley. But the war isn't over yet. We don't know how long we'll be here, or even how long it will be safe. Knowing me and my past record, I'll probably have Voldemort on my tail again really soon." He chuckled grimly, trying to ignore his pounding heart. "But until I'm proven right, until it puts you in danger, will you be my girlfriend?"

Her fury seemed to melt before his eyes, but still she hesitated. He could read the conflict in her eyes—there was longing and love, but it was intermixed with hurt and resentment. For what seemed like an eternity, he waited, on the brink of being either destroyed or redeemed.

She kissed him, and suddenly everything was right with the world.

_**Do dodoo. **_

_**Do dodododoDo! do! do!**_

_**Dadoodi**_

_**Dadooda**_

_**Dadidoodadooda-di!**_

Shortly after, Harry reentered the Great Hall with Ginny on his arm; both were grinning stupidly.

"Got it all sorted out then?" Lily asked with a knowing smile as they sat down side-by-side.

Ginny gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek in answer. "We did."

Harry caught Ron's eye. As expected, Ron jaw was clenched threateningly, warily. Harry inclined his head, hoping to communicate that he was planning on taking care of Ginny, and not letting her go any time soon—unless circumstances forced him to.

Ron looked slightly mollified and conversation resumed.

"So Harry," James said, "Ron told me you play Quidditch. What do you say to--"

"Did the arrogant prat forget to mention that I play too?" Interrupted Ginny, shooting a glower at Ron. "I swear, it's like he thinks I'm too delicate to do _anything_!"

"I do not!" Ron exclaimed indignantly. "It just slipped my mind, okay?"

The look on Ginny's face said that it was not, in fact, okay, but before she could do anything more than scowl, James bailed Ron out by breaking in to ask, "Hey, really? I was hoping we could get a game going tonight, so the more the merrier."

_**Dadada!**_

The bitter cold wind whipped at Harry's face as he urged the school broom to its limits. He allowed himself a few loop-de-loops and deep dives to remember the feel of it. It was wonderful—freeing.

As adrenaline and anticipation set in, he steered himself back to where the others were beginning to congregate. Sirius and James were already there, watching Ron, Ginny, and him calculatingly.

"Not bad," James shouted when he was withing hearing distance, "But if you want to keep up with us I certainly hope you can do better than that!"

"You kidding?" Harry shouted back, grinning, "This is my first time on a broom in a year. I'll get the rust off as soon as I see a snitch!"

Ginny pulled up beside him. "Where's everyone else?"

"The girls went to the dorms with Cassie and Michelle to get their brooms," James answered, "and Josh, Frank, and Euen can't come—they've got detention. Peter had to talk to McGonagall and Remus was waiting for him, so they shouldn't be long. Speak of the banshees**,** there they are!"

He let go of his broom to wave his arms wildly at his two good friends, who, in turn, waved back. James' grin grew wider and his waves more frantic, and he gestured so uncontrollably that, in the midst of his frenzy, he toppled from his broom.

Harry watched in horror as James fell—fell—fell. Without even realizing what he was doing, Harry began to speed down, angling himself to catch the falling boy.

But then he simply wasn't falling anymore. James hung, suspended by the front of Sirius' broom. It had happened so fast that it took Harry a moment to comprehend what had occurred.

James, he realized, had planned it—the frenzied waving, the seemingly uncontrolled falling—because he knew that Sirius was waiting with his weight back so that he could grasp the front of the broom and stop his fall. It was, Harry had to admit, quite an impressive act.

"Prongsie, mate, what would you do if I just decided to let you fall one of these days?" Sirius asked, shaking his head and leading Harry to believe that this was a regular occurrence. "If I decided I didn't want you around anymore and let you drop to your doom?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Padfoot," James grinned, "You love me too much!"

"Hey! I'm perfectly straight, I'll have you know!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Padfoot. Then maybe it'll be true and I won't be scared sharing a dorm with you anymore."

"Oh, I have no doubt you'd still be scared of the monsters under your bed, though."

"Just what does the one-eyed, purple... _thing..._ have to do with--"

"Hi Harry, Ginny, Ron," Peter greeted casually as he pulled up, completely ignoring James and Sirius' taunting. "They been at this long?"

Although it was directed at the three, Remus answered before they could. "I doubt it. James only just dropped, and they don't usually start until after. Hey guys," he said to Ron, Harry, and Ginny, then shouted over at his fellow Marauders, "Oi! Cut it out already! And by the looks of it, whether or not Padfoot had let Prongs fall doesn't matter because these three seemed to have him pretty covered!"

They stopped, voicing their confusion with an eloquent, "What?"

"Didn't you see how they all flew down and prepared to catch you, Prongs? Ah, guess you were to caught up in your little adventure." He shrugged and added to Harry, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "It happens. He tends to be unable to see anything beyond his big head."

James' indignant "I resent that!" was cut off by a "Can't disagree with that." It was Lily, but she was smirking lightly. "How he can manage to get that big head of his off the ground at all never fails to baffle me."

"LILY!" James said happily, then frowned and spoke sternly, like a parent scolding a child, "But didn't Harry tell you to give me a chance? What happened to that?" He smiled winningly.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm here, aren't I?" James lit up, but she hastily said, "Don't go getting a big head, though, you're more of an afterthought. I'm only here because Hermione and Ginny begged me to be, I want to get to know all these guys," she gestured at the four time travelers, "_and _ I thought I might as well give the Marauders a chance while I'm at it. Not to mention I'd much rather be out here than inside doing homework."

If this disappointed James, he didn't show it. He just nodded and said brightly, "Whatever the reason, I'm glad came."

Further conversation was stilled as the rest of the crew showed up, and the game began.

_**Dididi-do!**_

_**Dididididididi-da!**_

_**Dida!**_

They sat comfortably around the fire, back in Gryffindor tower. The sixth years had gone up to bed, but none of the seventh years seemed able to muster the energy to climb the stairs.

Ginny was staring into the fire, her mind clearly far away, and leaning against Harry. Harry, in turn, was watching everyone arrayed around him, his eyes lingering on some longer than others.

Morganie was nursing a black eye she'd gotten when one of the sixth years (they all suspected Lyssa, though she denied it) had slammed into her; Michelle was sketching idly on a spare piece of parchment; James was unconsciously playing with the snitch; Cassie was painting her nails and watching Sirius and Peter, who were hastily copying Remus' essay (it was hard to tell which one specifically held her attention), out of the corner of her eye. Hermione still looked a little shaken—understandable after she had nearly fallen off her broom—and Ron was rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. Lily had her nose in a book, but she didn't seem to be reading it, as she never turned a page.

Harry craned his neck to look at Remus—and was surprised to see that the sandy-haired boy was staring back at him. A blush crept into the werewolf's cheeks at being caught, and he smiled weakly before averting his gaze.

Another few minutes past before James drawled, "Soooo... Quite the conversation we're having here. We might want to tone it down a bit before we wake someone up."

Lily looked up from her book and smirked, "Is the silence getting to you, James?"

He smirked back, "You wear that smirk quite nicely, milady. I think you might surprise me with your mischievousness yet."

Immediately, Lily's face was wiped of her smirk, but after a moment of struggling to remain blank and emotionless, her lips surrendered to a smirk once again. "Perhaps I will, fair knight."

James was gob smacked by this last addition, and his face was mirrored by the rest of the Mauraders. The time-travelers, on the other hand, just grinned.

Turning from the dumbstruck Mauraders, Lily gave the group a cheerful smile. "He's right though, we are being awful quiet. And I'm sure you guys have loads of questions about the school. I'm impressed you made it this far."

"Naw, not too many," Ginny sad, "But I do have a few."

"Go for it."

"Who's the Defense professor, what're they like, and are they any good?"

"Professor Mandlebrook--" Lily began, but was cut off by Peter.

"Or as we've dubbed her—Mandy!"

Lily talked louder over him. "She's fair, a bit reserved, but nice. Doesn't favor anyone, thankfully, and gives quite a bit of homework. Or at least that's what I've gathered over the last two weeks."

Sirius shook his head tragically. "No, no Lily, you're not telling them what they want to know." He looked each of them in the eye. "Our dear Mandy is very business like. She's young, probably graduated from Hogwarts about ten years ago, which makes her only about 27, more or less, but still quite off limits," he said with a nod towards Harry and Ron. "She doesn't appreciate pranks at all, doesn't make chitchat before or after class, and really didn't like it when I sang "Love You Like a Troll" to her."

A few poorly disguised snorts and laughs went around, Ginny the loudest. "You sang 'Love You Like a Troll'?! Are you serious?"

Sirius grinned and was about to reply cheekily when—_Pfft!_—he was smacked across the face with a cushion. The culprit, Remus, turned solemnly to Ginny. "Don't _ever _ask him if he's serious. Trust me, you'll always end up groaning."

Sirius scowled at him, and mouthed, "_It's funny and you know it_," mockingly behind his back.

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. "These Mauraders... Life would certainly be a lot easier without them." After a moment of silence, she turned to Ginny. "What was the last question again? You wanted to know if Professor Mandlebrook was any good, right?" Ginny nodded and she shrugged. "_I_ think so. I mean, you've got to recognize how difficult teaching N.E.W.T. Level is—she can't exactly bring in a Death Eater to demonstrate on, and if she let us duel in class, someone's bound to get hurt."

Harry exchanged looks with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. That didn't sound promising.

"Come on, Lils," James said, rolling his eyes, "Her class is a bore, there's no use hiding it, and they'll find out whenever we have her class, anyway."

Lily, however, stiffened and glared at him. "Just because I spend an afternoon with you and your friends," she hissed angrily, not seeming to have heard his lecture at all, "doesn't mean you have the right to call me ridiculous nicknames!"

James froze, and hurt flashed across his features before it was dispelled and he said emotionlessly, "Of course. I'm sorry."

Lily nodded in satisfaction, and awkwardness ensued, forestalling further conversation.

As the silence drew on, the tense atmosphere felt as though is was balling into a pit within him, so Harry hurriedly jumped up, saying, "I'm off to bed. See you girls in the morning."

"Yeah, it's been a long day," Ron agreed as he too stood up, his voice a bit too loud to be perfectly natural. "I think I'll come too. What about you guys? You coming?"

Remus and Peter glanced at one another, muttered an affirmative, and climbed to their feet. Sirius sighed and silently nodded, but James just looked regretfully at Lily before miserably joining the others.

By this time, Harry had already reached the landing and, with one last look below, entered their dorm.

_Yep, not a whole lot happens... Once I finally got past that pathetic attempt at romance though, it was pretty fun to write. On the subject of my pathetic attempt at romance, if anyone has ideas for how to improve it—or better yet, wants to write it themselves—I'll gladly accept your help!_

_Lots of love_

_DitzyDizzyDessy101_

_Rain_


	6. No Longer Laughing

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 6**

**XXX No Longer Laughing XXX**

Ciao!

I apologize... this chapter was supposed to be up a while ago,

but I couldn't get the Maurader interaction right, and it felt like

I should start letting time slip by. I didn't do very well with the latter,

but I'm rather proud of the former.

Anyway, though, you'll have to let me know what you think when you REVIEW!!

I am especially thrilled to announce that you all responded brilliantly when I asked for reviews... my number more than doubled! XD

Thanks to: Mystical Magician, Jojobevco, Bookcrzygirl, Fmafan10, Bookwormluver, Albus Severus Potter, Destinystar105, Jaini, Helenw713, Khajmer, Jordana Kari, E. M. Emrys, and Binesab, as well as Marguerida, Nosi, and Delyrical, who reviewed my other story Forging Reality: Take Two--which is the scene when Dumbledore interviewed them, from Dumbledore's point of view (Hehe... you should go read it! XD )

Here are a few questions and answers:

_**Why isn't Dumbledore more suspicious of them--they are in the middle of a war, after all?** This question is answered, very, very in depth, in Forging Reality: Take Two. There is really too much to say right here without taking up a couple thousand words._

_**Why doesn't anyone notice or comment on the fact that during Lily's rant in chapter four, she only referred to the Marauders, but Harry singled out James? **It was common knowledge that Lily hated James above and beyond the other Marauders, and that James loved Lily. They all knew that she was referring to James, even if she said "they"--in fact, everyone probably mentally, subconciously substituted "him" for "they." I doubt they even noticed that she didn't say "he" or "Potter." And, even if they did, the girls would have expected the boys to have mentioned it, and vice versa._

--

The following day—a Friday—found Harry sitting in the Defense classroom, looking on in fond amusement as Hermione tore into Professor Mandlebrook. He wasn't the only one—half the class looked as though they were having a seizure, what with all the suppressed laughter. The rest of the class, however, looked either thoughtful, annoyed, or a apprehensive as their eyes darted from the professor to the student and back again.

He glanced at Ron, expecting him to be among the ones who were laughing, but he just looked uncertain—like he was torn between going to help Hermione or just sitting there and laughing.

"—and just what do you think you're teaching us?!" Hermione exclaimed, "How to die without a clue as to what's going on?"

A far cry from the self-righteous first year who thought that all teachers were saints, Hermione was now in her element; her rage on behalf of all the students who would face the horrors of the war unprepared had driven her to her feet and the professor into a figurative corner.

-

Harry had a feeling that Hermione's frustration was partly fueled by a particularly disheartening topic that had come up at breakfast. As Lily read the _Daily Prophet_, her expression had grown somber and she'd read aloud about a Muggle neighborhood that had been ravaged by Death Eaters.

It was clear to Harry that, as they'd heard it, all his fellow time-travelers had realized just what it meant to be in the past: They couldn't really do anything to help, to change things. Whatever they did, the future was going to be just as bleak as they remembered—and even if things _had _been improving, it was at a steep price.

Harry was sure that this fury was a part of that feeling of insignificance and worthlessness, and she was doing whatever she could to create a better future without actively doing anything—by trying to get people a better education, there was a chance they would be able to defend themselves better, so she was trying to help without actually doing something that would directly change the future—she just hoped it would, to a point.

In any case, they had sat near one another for support. When the lesson had started, Hermione had appraised the teacher with an increasingly irate air, which soon turned the situation into a full-blown argument.

-

"I'm trying to teach you to pass your NEWTs! Why are you so determined to believe that you're going to die? You're just schoolchildren, for Merlin's sake!" Professor Mandlebrook screamed wildly, her brisk, uptight composure long gone, to be replaced by a red face and disheveled hair—the perfect description of manic, feral abnegation.

"Schoolchildren who are now legally adults and who, in less than a year, will go out in a world ravaged by war!"

"You insolent brat! You don't know anything!" When she heard that, Hermione won.

"So teach me! Teach all of us! We need to know how to survive, not a bunch of rules and regulations about why dueling is so dangerous! Isn't the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to learn to survive, to fight?!"

An odd, foreign silence lingered for an instant, as Mandlebrook's fury reached a whole new level, and she visibly swelled with a large breath, until—"OUT! GET OUT! IF YOU THINK MY CLASS IS JUST SO POINTLESS THAN JUST GET OUT!!"

Hermione's face reddened with indignation and scorn, and Harry knew it was time to interfere. An instant later, he was on her one side and Ron and Ginny on her other.

Ron looked murderous, shouting, "DON'T TALK TO HER THAT WAY!" but try as he might, Harry couldn't manage to summon his anger properly. Oh, it was boiling, all right, but it refused to ignite, and when he spoke, it was in a voice chilled with false calm.

"She's right, professor. We are in the middle of a war and you are teaching us nothing worthwhile. This classroom," with a sweeping gesture, he indicated the wide-eyed, laughter-less teens around the room, "is full of people who will live and fight and die for the sake of this war. Protecting us from it won't do any good, so I advise you to not even try. Your job is to teach us to fight for what we believe in and come out on top. Teach us dueling, fighting, strategy, self-defense, escaping...whatever. Just teach us something we can use."

From his first words, Mandlebrook had paled drastically at his cold tone. She suddenly looked small and vulnerable, ridiculously so, and a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. As the silence lengthened, however, she made a valiant, albeit infuriatingly stubborn, attempt to regain her composure. "Get out." It came as no more than a whisper, so she visibly summoned her strength and shouted, "Get OUT! ALL FOUR OF YOU! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU IN MY CLASSROOM AGAIN!!"

Without another word and without looking at anyone, Harry turned to go, his eyes trained on the door. He heard his friends do likewise, until Ginny reached the door, paused, glanced back and Mandlebrook, and said, "They do know what they're talking about, you know. This isn't a game, and Voldemort certainly doesn't play by the rules."

And with that, she left.

_**DillyDillyDillyDillyDoooo**_

"I cannot believe her! What in Merlin's name does she think she's doing? What does it matter about twelfth century dueling laws for a proper, honorable duel when we know the Death Eaters won't follow them anyway?!"

"We know, Hermione," Ron placated, "She's being ridiculous—no better than that git Lockhart had been."

"On the bright side, though," Ginny said happily, "We have the rest of class to do whatever we want!"

Hermione made a sound like a half-strangled animal, whereas Ron missed a step, just barely catching himself before he fell. "All right! An extra free hour! Who's up for..." His grin faltered and he sounded vaguely confused. "Quidditch? Exploding Snap? Chess?" He shook his head, his expression rapidly changing to looking abandoned and dejected. "Blimey, nothing sounds nearly as fun as it did before. Where are the Marauders when you need them? You can't help but feel excited and happy when they're around doing... whatever it is they do."

"You know what, Harry, Hermione?" Ginny exclaimed, shaking her head, "I think my brother is finally starting to grow up! I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, this war's changed us a lot," Hermione agreed, but much more somberly than Ginny. "But, in any case, I don't think we should play games. We really ought to go to the library and figure out how to get home."

"Not the library!" Ron protested theatrically, in an obvious attempt to refute the claims of his maturity, "Anything but that!"

"And some things never change," Harry said to Ginny, nodding at the both of them.

_**Di!Di-di! Dodadi-dodidadidadidooooooo-oooo!**_

In the library, however, they didn't find much of use.

They might have thought _The Planes of Time: Forward and Backward_ more reliable if it hadn't tried to convince them that basilisks and unicorns were actually the same creature, and that if you put a time turner around the neck of either it turns into a three-headed dog.

_Legitimate Time Travel for Dummies _said to just sit still and wait for the future to come—something they didn't find helpful at all.

_Illegitimate Time Travel for Psychotic Geniuses_ told them to devise a clever plot to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, steal a time turner, go back in time, and _then_ sit and wait for the future to come.

Still, _A Brief Guide to Changing Time_ looked the most promising... until they opened it and saw that it held only one word: _DON'T!!_

_**DumdiddidummmmDumdiddidummmmm**_

When they met up with the others for Potions, they were hailed as heroes.

"All right!"

"That was amazing!"

"I've never seen Mandlebrook so mad!"

"She looked almost scared!"

"Heck, I was almost scared!"

"Most interesting class yet!"

"I love you guys!"

"I swear, I saw her chugging a bottle of sherry when she thought no one was looking!"

Slughorn appeared then and the class gradually settled down, and to Harry's intense relief, the large, jovial man didn't seem to take any special interest in him at all.

_**Dooo.Dooo.Duu-oodidoooooo.**_

Despite the Defense Against the Dark Arts mishap, things very well may have been off to a good start—a very good start—if that night had been devoid of nightmares.

It was Ron this time, screaming, thrashing and jerking madly...

In an instant, Remus, light sleeper that he was, was by Ron's side, pale and terrified, shaking Ron's shoulders gently and saying, "It's okay, Ron. Um, you're safe now, it—uh, whatever it is, it's not going to hurt you anymore. You're at Hogwarts, and um..."

"NO! HERMIONE!!"

Remus jerked back as if slapped—which he might have been, as Ron's limbs were flying everywhere.

"HERMIONE!"

James tiredly rolled out of bed and joined Remus in trying to wake Ron.

"Ergh! It's not working, Moony!" James shouted over Ron's yells.

"I know! Go get Padfoot and Wormtail, then get some wet washcloths!"

It took a minute, but soon Sirius was up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stumbling his way over to Remus and Ron.

"What's wrong with him?!"

"I don't know, Padfoot!"

Peter and James returned with several dripping washcloths. Remus grabbed one and gingerly lay it on Ron's forehead—where it was promptly shaken off. With more force, he applied another, this time not withdrawing his hand, and said in the most reassuring voice he could muster, "Come, on Ron. It's just a nightmare; it's not really happening. You're safe here..."

Ron neither responded nor woke up, and Sirius, ignoring the pile of washcloths, stumbled over to his trunk and rummaged around in it, returning a moment later with his wand. "_Aguamenti!"_

Ron gasped and spluttered into consciousness, swearing all the while. He was shaking, but the Mauraders couldn't tell whether it was from fear or fury or both.

"You alright, mate?" Sirius asked.

"_Hermione_," Ron moaned miserably, having not even noticed them yet.

"She's safe, over in the girls' dorms. I-it was just a nightmare," Remus said in a voice that would have been calm if he hadn't wavered in the middle.

Ron jumped, seeing them for the first time, and shook, as if to clear the lingering effects of the dream. "What happened?"

Remus shook his head, turning on a lamp to avoid looking directly at him. "You had a nightmare. We just woke up a few minutes ago..."

"What was it about? You were screaming fit to wake the dead." James asked Ron, who just shuddered and averted his eyes. "People don't just have nightmares _that bad_."

"Does that happen a lot?" Sirius asked, his voice unexpectedly hard, but Ron seemed to be too shaken by his nightmare to notice.

"No. It's always Harry who..." His voice was unsteady and trailed off. He blinked. "Hang on, where is he?"

It was clear from everyone's expression that they hadn't noticed his absence either. Before anyone else could move, Sirius was on his feet and drawing back the curtains hanging around Harry's bed. He froze.

And swore.

Peering around him to see, James echoed him.

It wasn't as violent as Ron's nightmare, but it was much, much worse. Harry's face was ashen and held an expression of pure, undiluted terror. His shoulders shook, his hands clenched, and he trembled from head to toe, even curled up as he was in a tight ball. As they watched, guilt and self-loathing crept onto his features, intermixed with the horror.

All four Mauraders were frozen in place with expressions varying from Sirius' stony mask to Peter's wide-eyed fear, but Ron, having been in this sort of situation before, was immediately up and by his side, saying, "Harry..._Harry!" _

Harry flinched away from his voice. His mouth opened and he started moaning silently, tears pooling down his cheeks and soaking his sheets.

"_Harry!!" _His eyes snapped open, wide and terrified, but the tears kept coming. After a few agonizing seconds, he seemed to recognize Ron's concerned face and, still shuddering somewhat, he started to relax.

--

_It's just a dream,_ Harry told himself firmly, _Just a dream; nothing more_. All of the Weasleys—except Fred—were still alive. They _had _to be. They were good fighters; they knew what to do.

_But then,_ a nagging voice said in the back of his mind, _so had Fred, Sirius, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks..._ He had seen the Weasleys, though, just before he'd gone to his death. Surely, _surely_ the battle wouldn't have started up again afterwards.

He stared at the curtains that shrouded his bed, trying to block out the horrid image of a mound of bloody, mutilated bodies and Bellatrix's cruel, triumphant smirk.

_Just a dream._

Ron still looked concerned above him, and Harry started to reassure his friend that he was fine, but no sound came out. Ron looked confused and even more worried, and with a sinking feeling, Harry realized his mistake. If he could just reach his wand...

But he was too late. Comprehension dawned on Ron's face and, before Harry could do it himself, he pulled out his wand and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem._"

His precautionary silencing charm canceled, Harry stared at his hands and muttered, "Thanks."

Undeterred, Ron demanded, "Was that what I think it was?"

Harry nodded slowly, not meeting his gaze.

"What were you thinking?! We're your friends, Harry! We're _supposed_ to wake you up from your nightmares! How many times do we have to tell you that you don't need to do it alone?!"

Harry scowled. "Look, I just—I didn't want _them _to know, alright?" He jerked his head both towards Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter, who were shifting awkwardly in their places, and the growing crowd of spectators that they had woken up. "I'm tired of being singled out, especially for something like this."

"That doesn't mean you have to go through this alone! Harry, I've seen you after some of your really bad nightmares, and I can't just let you do this to yourself!"

"I've managed just fine over the summers, if you don't remember!"

"Fine! Next time, I won't bother!" Ron snarled, storming back to his bed and snapping the curtains shut, and Harry was instantly abashed.

"Ron! You know I didn't... I don't..." Harry swallowed. "You, er, can all go back to bed," he called to the crowd outside their door. "Show's over." One by one, they filed away, leaving the two boys alone with the Mauraders. He turned back to Ron's curtained bed. "Look, Ron, I know I'm being a right git about it. This is kind of what I was trying to avoid and," he sighed, "and I just thought that maybe, if I pretended I was normal, I might get a chance to just be me. Just Harry, not..."

Ron pulled back the curtains and stared at Harry for a long moment. Then he grinned. "Okay, I'll leave it there for now, but I can't guarantee that I won't let something _slip_ to the girls."

Harry's nervous laugh was only half faked. "Oh, don't! Please, I beg of you!"

James coughed and Harry spun around, only just remembering that they were there. For one, awful second, Harry was sure he'd completely given them away. He strained to recall what he and Ron had said that would be suspicious, feeling his heart drop farther and farther by the second.

He took a deep breath. The Mauraders certainly looked confused and awkward, but they weren't jumping to conclusions or accusations. He and Ron had to make a tactful escape before they gave much else away. He turned to Ron. "I don't think either of us are going to be able to get back to sleep. Let's go to the kitchens or somewhere, get something to eat."

As Ron was nodding and starting to answer, someone else said, "I—we'll come with you."

Harry turned to Remus, surprised. Then he shook his head. "It's late; you all should go back to bed. Don't worry about us."

"Naw, we're used to going on little sleep, it's no big deal. And anyway," Remus hesitated and spared a quick glance at the other Mauraders, "We've been wanting to talk to you guys alone. You know, without Lily and Cassie and them around."

Harry sighed, uncertain if "them" included Hermione and Ginny as well, but not seeing a good enough way out of it either way. Not to mention, he certainly didn't mind spending extra time with his dad and Sirius and Remus... He nodded.

"How did you guys know that I was having a nightmare, anyway?" He said, starting down the stairs.

"Ron had a nightmare too, and that woke us up, and you weren't there, so..." James fell silent, but Harry had heard all he needed to.

He shook his head and turned a glare that was only half mocking in Ron's direction. "What's this? You lecture me about facing stuff without you, but when it comes to you, out of sight, out of mind?"

The Mauraders snickered and Ron grinned sheepishly.

Within minutes, they found themselves at the entrance to the kitchens, and Ron tickled the pear to let them in. Instantly, they were swarmed by house elves, half of whom had smudges of flour or dabs of egg on their faces, all begging to help them.

"Oh, Master King of the Universe! Master Good Looking! Master Of All Things Intelligent! Master Amazingly Amazing!" Hundreds of exuberantly squeaking voices addressed James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter in turn before welcoming Harry and Ron. "And The Master Mauraders' Friends!"

"We is been wondering when you will see come see us, sirs!"

"Happy day, sirs, happy day it is when you is here!"

"We is ready to do your bidding, sirs!"

Ron and Harry were howling with laughter, but the Mauraders looked abashed.

"I really wish we hadn't taught them that," Sirius said, wincing as he took their offered cakes and butterbeer.

"Me too," said James, doing likewise, "It'd sound much less cliché and much better suited to me if I'd gone with Quidditch King—or better yet, Quidditch god."

"I can definitely do better than 'amazingly amazing, too,'" Peter agreed a little too quickly, nodding a little too hard.

"I don't know," Remus said, shaking his head, "Master of All Things Intelligent still fits pretty well." Adding to Ron and Harry, who were laughing harder than ever, he explained, "We were in our first year and the house elves were, well, a bit _too_ eager to please."

"Yeah, I think we've had our fair share with that sort," Harry said between laughs, smiling and remembering Dobby fondly as he accepted some tarts from a curtsying elf. "Thank you," he nodded at her, and she gave a startled squeak, backing away from him with wide, disbelieving eyes and nervously adjusting the plaited bow between her ears.

"So you guys found this place in your first year?" Ron asked, sounding impressed.

The Mauraders exchanged quick glances. "Hey, you guys found it in just a few days. I'd say that's more impressive than just in our first year," Peter said casually. "How'd you manage that, anyway?"

Harry rolled his eyes, trying to pass as casually dismissive. "A good prankster never reveals his secrets."

"Too true, too true," Peter agreed, his voice still as light and conversational as though they were merely discussing the weather or what they'd be having for breakfast in a few hours—or maybe, to the Mauraders, such a conversation _was _that usual— "And a good prankster never turns down the opportunity to prank, either." His voice became businesslike in the blink of an eye. "Here's the deal: we have an idea, we have a victim, but we'll need some help with it. So tell me—are you in or out?"

"You'd better believe we're in!" Ron said immediately, with enthusiasm. Harry, though, wasn't so quick to agree.

"Tell me more about it first."

"Harry, what're you... This is the chance we've been waiting for!"

Harry spoke loudly over Ron. "Tell me, from one prankster to another, what are you planning?"

James looked at him and nodded slowly. "There's the kid here, see? He's in our year and the perfect target for just about anything—you know, anti-social, greasy, smells... the works—"

"No," Harry said flatly.

Taken aback, James repeated, "No?"

"No. That's the worst sort of target you could pick, especially if you call yourselves good pranksters. Picking on that sort of person repeatedly, alienating him from everyone else... that makes you no better than a common playground bully. No. You want a good prank? Do something that will make people laugh, make them happy, forget about schoolwork, or even the war, for a little while. Make Hogwarts a better, happier place to be."

"But then it's not _funny,_" Sirius protested, "Everyone laughs when we make fun of Snivillus."

Harry stared at him and raised his eyebrows. "_Everyone,_ Sirius?"

"Yeah! Everyone but Snivillus himself!"

Deciding to pursue a different tactic, Harry turned away. "Would you agree with that, Remus?" He said, leveling him with a long, steady gaze. "Does everyone think it's funny?"

Remus looked startled and a little uncomfortable. He swallowed. "Yeah, it tends to be a big laugh-earner."

"Do _you_ think it's funny?"

The young teen averted his gaze. "Yeah, of course I do," he muttered.

James frowned thoughtfully, as if he'd only just realized something. "_Do _you, Moony? You never do take part, it's always Padfoot and I and sometimes Wormtail, and you're always reading your book or doing something else when we..." He stared at Remus. "You don't, do you?"

Wordlessly, Remus slowly shook his head.

There was a very pregnant pause.

"I guess that's that, then," Sirius said lightly. "We'll find a new target. How 'bout that Hufflepuff fifth year show-off that a lot of the girls seem to like? He could do with being taken down a peg."

Ron's cough sounded remarkably like "_Hypocrite!_"

Sirius scowled at him, "Or we could do any of the houses—barring Gryffindor, or course," he added for Ron and Harry's benefit. "Personally, my vote's for the Slytherins, but I'm open to persuasion."

Harry could see that all four Mauraders were getting into it now: Remus was twirling his fork and staring at the ceiling, deep in thought; Peter was drumming his fingers and chewing his cake abnormally slowly; and both Sirius and James were leaning towards Ron and him expectantly.

"What about the entire school?" Ron asked eagerly. "We could, I dunno, turn everyone colors, or..."

James cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Not funny enough." He shrugged. "Turning people colors, or into animals, or bewitching them to sing... it gets old real quick. And you've got to realize, we've been at this school for fully six years now, and everyone's pretty used to our usual bag of tricks. We need something big, really big," His eyes got an evil, hungry gleam, "and brand, spanking new."

Four pairs of watchful eyes turned on Ron and Harry, awaiting their input, and Harry felt oddly suffocated under their demands. Saving the world was his sort of thing, but planning a prank? When was the last time he'd even had time for something like this?

"Fireworks?" Ron suggested weakly.

Remus shook his head. "They're a great asset to a prank, but there's only so much you can do with them—and so many times you can do it."

"Er, making people sick to get all at once, so there's nobody left in class?"

James grimaced. "I dunno, sounds kinda messy..."

"Wild animals, uh, running a muck in the Great Hall—"

"Could be dangerous..." Peter interrupted, frowning.

Ron tensed slightly, frowning.

"No imput, Harry?" Remus asked, nodding at him.

"We could, erm, get a dragon and—No, where would we get one? We can't exactly take one from Gringotts—Um, a maze on the Quidditch field—No, that would take too long to grow—" He was fast running out of ideas, and the Mauraders' falling expressions certainly didn't help his concentration much.

"You mean to tell me," Sirius said casually,—if a little harshly—as if to clarify what they were saying, "that you two, who had us so entertained the other night with tales of your flying cars and trolls and giant spiders, can't even come up with a proper idea for a prank? That's just sad."

Remus frowned at him. "I'm sure it's just—stress, or lack of sleep, or..."

"If they had such brilliant ideas then, why are they so uncreative now?"

"_Padfoot!_" James hissed. "_Shut up!"_ Sirius sulked behind James. "It's alright if you can't come up with an idea," he said, face neutral. "We've got plenty."

Harry hated that all the Mauraders suddenly looked so closed off, and made a desperate attempt to redeem themselves.

"Look, this isn't really our—Coming up with the idea has never really—never been a problem. It's always been there, right there. I mean, once we have a goal, we've got it covered. We'd almost certainly be able to manage, say, breaking into Gringotts or the Ministry of Magic if we had enough Polyjuice Potion, but—"

A new idea hit Harry, an idea so utterly and completely brilliant that he froze as abruptly as if he'd been petrified. A few seconds later, his mind had stopped racing just enough for him to turn to Ron and say, "Polyjuice."

Ron nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Okay...yeah, that could work. But who..."

Harry ignored his question, turning back to the Mauraders triumphantly. "I've got it!"

As he explained his idea, he received five awestruck "_Wicked!"'_s for his trouble.

As pranking plans continued, Remus's eyes never left Harry as he stared at him, watching, appraising, thinking...

When they all stood up to go back to the dorms and get ready for the day, James hung back next to Harry and Ron. "Hey listen... I'm Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and, well, you two and Ginny played brilliantly last night, but I don't want to hurt Hermione by specifically asking you three to tryout but not her. Do you think she'd mind?"

Both Ron and Harry shook their heads. "No, I bet she'll be pleased. She doesn't much like brooms, anyway."

James looked relieved, and the three of them hurried to catch up with the others, each looking forward to the Saturday that lay before them—to be filled with lounging around the grounds in the crisp autumn air, spending time with the girls, and refining the more precise aspects of the prank.

REVIEW!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE PlEaSe pLeAsE!!


	7. Stellar Performance

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 7**

**XXX Stellar Performance XXX**

**Tada!!**

**Here we are, everyone, with "Stellar Performance"--7th chapter of Forging Reality!! Sorry for the long absence, but, as I'm sure you'll be able to tell, the prank took quite a bit of...manipulating... to get where I wanted it. I even had to bounce a few ideas off of my brother (oh, the shame!...haha, jk about the shame part). I hope you like it!!**

**Next, I just wanted you guys to know how much I ADORED getting your reviews!! does dance I've been sooooooooo happy! Unless you're an author yourself, you probably don't know just what they mean to us—and if you are an author, you definitely know and so should definitely send me one!!**

**Now, I know people were desperate to find out what the prank is, so I won't waste any more time, except to say:**

**Disclaimer: I OWN HARRY POTTER! Well, not him exactly, but pretty close. Okay, so I just own the books, but that's still pretty good. No... not the rights. Not the idea either. Yes, I do own something! I own copies of the books, bought at K-mart, now BACK OFF!! cuddles books to chest**

Breakfast that morning was extremely strained.

For one thing, Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Ginny's eyes—not after he'd seen her hear about his Silencing Spells, seen the barest flicker of hurt in her eyes that betrayed just how badly his refusal of help pained her.

On top of that, Hermione was predictably, if dishearteningly, using pointed glares and stubborn silences to communicate her anger, something that naturally made any and all small talk stilted and futile.

To make matters worse, it seemed that the news had already made it around the school—he and Ron were on the receiving end of many curious stares and whispering, and, by default, so was everyone around them. The time-travelers ignored them with practiced ease, refusing to meet any of the on-lookers' eyes or give any of them an opening for questions, but it nonetheless served as a reminder of Harry's spells, as well as the undeniable truth that even in the past, anonymity was highly unlikely.

The Marauders, on the other hand, milked up the attention—to both his amusement and horror, Harry very often caught Sirius and James, and sporadically even Remus and Peter, catching someone's eye and winking or waving cheekily.

The girls (just Lily, Michelle, Morganie, and Cassie—Harry was beginning to get the idea that the Sixth Years rarely joined them), were clearly feeling awkward under so many stares: Lily and Michelle were valiantly doing their utmost to carry on as if nothing was unusual, but at seemingly random moments would blush spectacularly or falter in the middle of a sentence. Cassie, audacious and brazen as she was, would attempt to stare down the onlookers one by one—to her credit, she won more often than not. Morganie, as shy as ever, was very reluctant to get a word in at all—and when she did out of necessity (the girls could be _very _persuasive), her voice was thin and tinny and her eyes wouldn't move from a set point on her plate.

Of course, McGonagall's visit halfway through the meal only added to the thick tension as she strode primly towards them, frowned regally at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and somewhat stiffly asked that they meet her in her office after breakfast.

That said, it was no wonder that Harry couldn't manage to summon his enthusiasm enough to congratulate James when, reading ecstatically from a letter, he announced that his cousin Rachel would be getting married in a few weeks.

Particularly when this announcement was accompanied with a suggestive wink towards Lily.

_**DimmmDimmmmDidimm**_

_**Diddli-deet-de-deet!**_

Promising to meet up with them later, the time-travelers watched Lily, Cassie, Michelle, and Morganie turn back up the corridor and begin down the staircase.

The Marauders, to Harry's intense disappointment, had left after breakfast to do something that, according to them, was a closely guarded secret that Harry and the others were "not privy to". Harry suspected that that was simply their way of retreating without tag-a-longs—and as much as he wished they'd include him, he knew that they couldn't be expected to bend over backwards to include four people that they didn't even know, let alone have any real reason _not_ to exclude... even if Harry knew he had more right to join them than the rat did.

McGonagall appeared less than a minute later, apologizing briefly for the wait, and unlocked her office to allow them inside. Beyond that, she didn't speak to them until she had seated herself behind her desk and them in conjured chairs.

Under her stern gaze, Harry felt young and foolish again, like a child caught in the act of wrongdoing—and if he were to judge by her expression, McGonagall seemed to believe he was. Pushing that thought aside, he met her stare all the more strongly and waited.

"I am well aware," she said briskly, "that the change from homeschooled to scheduled boarding school poses several—_trying—_difficulties on the four of you, and that you are accustomed to following different rules from our own. Nevertheless," she said, her eyes narrowed, "here at Hogwarts, we expect students show their teachers the utmost respect, and I cannot believe your parents and previous teachers permitted you to show such blatant disrespect as you did yesterday."

It was a minute before Harry realized she was talking about the previous day's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and by the time he had, McGonagall had gone on.

"Professor Mandlebrook told me that you insulted her teaching methods and authority, told falsehoods and exaggerated facts to frighten your classmates, and outright mocked and attempted to intimidate her. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

They exchanged looks, prompting McGonagall to demand, _"Well?"_

"With all due respect, Professor," Ginny said bluntly, "We'd have been more than happy to show her respect, but frankly, she didn't deserve it."

McGonagall's lips compressed in a furiously tight line and Hermione winced, slightly pink in the face, and said quickly, "What she means is, even someone, like a professor, for whom we have complete respect for just because of their title, is held responsible for keeping our respect. We do understand and recognize the difficulty and importance of the job, we really do, but there comes a point where it isn't enough just to hold the job. She needs to actually teach us something, especially given the war that many of us will join after school."

McGonagall, looking even less convinced than before, appraised her through narrowed eyes. "Miss Granger, do you honestly presume that you know more than your teachers, who not only have had years more experience than you have, but also have been handpicked for the job by Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Hermione raised her chin defiantly to her former role model. "If they waste both our time and theirs with stories about how her six-year-old cousin challenged her father to a duel and wound up with cake up her nose, then yes, I do!"

McGonagall blinked, but immediately looked stern again, so quickly that if Harry had not spent years as her student, he wouldn't have seen it at all. "It seems to me that you have missed the point of that particular story."

"Not unless it was hidden in her lecture right before it about the years when it was illegal to where a hat while dueling or the story that followed it about two drunks trying to duel at the Quidditch World Cup!"

The professor paused for a long moment, seemingly warring with herself over the proper response. "If, as you say, her lesson failed to instruct," she said at last, "then please, in the future, be sure to approach either myself or the headmaster, but you are not, under any circumstances, to shout at a professor."

She studied them silently and Harry asked, "But it'll be taken care of?"

"I will speak with Professor Mandlebrook, yes. I can't say that this is the first time students have had complaints about their professors, but if her classes are as pointless as you say... Well, in any case, I will speak to her."

_**Diddiadi-ayayaydidiadi-ay-ay!**_

"Absolutely not," Hermione said flatly on the way to dinner.

"But Hermione—"

"No."

"Look—"

"No, you look, Harry. There is no way you can do that! That would be like having a great big light-up sign flashing 'Look at us! We're very clearly and obviously hiding something and know a lot of things we shouldn't!'"

"It's just a prank, okay! He'll never figure it out."

"I know he won't, Harry! He wouldn't give himself time—he'd automatically assume we're Death Eaters instead."

"What Death Eater would call attention to themselves by doing a prank like this? This would bring us willingly into the spotlight, which would tell him that whatever we're hiding isn't anything bad!"

Lily, hearing the sound of their frenzied whispering but not what they were saying, turned around from where she and the others were walking, some thirty feet ahead, and asked, "You guys coming or not?"

"We're coming," Harry said immediately, hurrying to catch up to them.

Hermione, throwing him a dirty look, followed.

_**Diddit-diddit**_

_**Diddit-diditdiditdidit**_

The days slipped by and the prank hadn't yet happened, and Harry could tell that the tension in the school was mounting to the point where it was nearly tangible. It was obvious that none of the students could understand why there hadn't yet been a prank or attack of some sort—miscellaneous students would linger around the Marauders just within hearing distance, teachers would spend whole lessons watching the four out of the corner of their eyes, and various teens would initiate conversations with them with both subtle and not-so-subtle hints, but to no avail.

At long last, lounging in the common room one rainy, soggy afternoon, James and Sirius hurried up to Harry, grinning triumphantly.

'"We've got the stuff," they chorused, "It's showtime!"

_**Daaadi-dooo-de-diddeli-didi**_

When dinner began, it was with the usual note of climbing expectation.

Before sitting down, many took out their wands and waved them over their benches and food, checking for any jinxes.

Others stared at the Marauders as if to judge whether they looked excited, anxious, or overly innocent, but the Marauders just stared back, as they always did, and waved cheekily.

Still others stated blandly that they'd much rather be a target than continue the monotonous stretch of prank-less days of lesson after lesson after lesson—although, of course, the Slytherins were decidedly not among them.

And when a few even asked the Marauders if they were resigning from their title, the time-travelers realized that the Marauders had never gone this far without somehow disturbing the peace—but then, Harry mused, he and his friends didn't exactly have a good track record, either.

In any case, this time the anticipation wasn't disappointed—although the prank started in such a way that no one was sure, at first, that it was a prank at all.

About ten minutes into dinner, Dumbledore frowned, put down his fork, and stood, peering curiously at the large doors at the entrance of the Great Hall.

"It would seem," he said mildly but loudly, so as to be heard over the suddenly hushed mutterings that had erupted, "that we have a visitor."

As soon as he said it, the doors blew open, as if from a great wind, and a tall figure strode into the hall.

"And you would be right," the figure said, and at that moment the warm glow of the candles and the light from the darkening sky spilled onto his face, driving away the shadows and revealing his face. Many people gasped, and a few even shrieked.

There, staring back at all the students and staff, was the aged face of Albus Dumbledore.

Heads swiveled from one Dumbledore to the other—the one in purple, starry robes at the high table and the other in bluish-green.

"You are, I presume, here for a prank?" Purple-robed Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling happily.

"A prank, you say?" Green-robed Dumbledore repeated glancing around the room. "Yes, I'd thought you were such, though I do thank you for confirming it."

"Can I assume it was it was the Marauders?"

The Dumbledore at the door nodded slowly, watching him curiously over his half-moon spectacles. "They do look rather conspicuously celebratory over there, don't they?"

And they did—all four of them were standing on the tables, bowing elaborately to the amusement of many amongst the staff and students.

"Enough of this!" McGonagall said briskly, staring at the two Dumbledore's sternly. "Which one of you is the real headmaster?"

"Why, my dear Minerva," purple robes said, sounding surprised, "I think the prank is you must figure out which of us is the real one, because naturally we would both reply that we are."

She frowned at the both of them. "Very well," she said, "That is easily fixed. Hand me your wands."

She held out her hand expectantly, and the green-robed Dumbledore handed her his wand. She examined it closely and nodded briskly. "The case is closed. This is the real Headmaster."

"But Minerva," protested the Dumbledore robed in purple, "You've not yet examined mine."

And she grudgingly took his offered wand and examined it.

After a moment, she looked up, eyes narrowed.

"But that's not possible!" She exclaimed.

"And yet, it apparently is," green-robed Dumbledore smiled genially, turning to his clone. "You visited Gregorovitch, I take it?"

The one in purple robes smiled, delight clearly evident in his twinkling eyes. "You needn't share your secrets, although I do confess I was curious."

By this time, the initial shock had worn off and the crowd was a sea of thrilled laughs and voices—upturned faces still swiveled from one Dumbledore to the other, betting who was who and how long the prank would last before they were figured out. Gone was the weariness, the boredom, the monotonous routine—the Marauders were back in business.

McGonagall looked angry and frustrated; her lips were exceedingly tight and her eyes narrowed. "Then I suppose," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, "that this will have to be done differently."

The two Dumbledores exchanged bemused glances, but no sooner had they done so than they found themselves attacked by a rapid barrage of questions.

To green: "What subject did you teach, before you became headmaster?"

"The same magnificent art as you do."

To purple: "Where did you grow up?"

"My younger years were spent in an adorable little village called Mold on the Would, but once I turned ten or so we moved to the charming Godric's Hollow."

To green: "What does your brother do for a living?"

"Why, he runs the HogsHead—quite a place, I tell you," he said, smiling reminiscently, "You get all sorts there."

To purple: "What is your favorite candy?"

"I do love chocolate frogs tremendously—it's such fun to see myself on the cards—but I've taken quite a fancy to those Lemon Drops," he paused, reflecting. "I have some up in my office, if you'd like to try them."

To green: "Your favourite jam?"

"Raspberry," he said promptly, smiling happily, "without contest. I think I see some over there; do you mind passing it to me? I confess I missed lunch, and having only just made it to dinner am rather famished."

To purple: "Your favourite music?"

"Ah, chamber music. I'm always said it is a magic beyond all we do here."

To green: "Who was your predecessor?"

"A delightful man by the name of Armando Dippet. Brilliant man, I say, if a bit naive at times, he more than made up for it with his personality."

To purple: "What gift did I give you for Christmas?"

"Ah, it was a grand, thick book," he said serenely, eyes twinkling delightedly, "though I could have sworn I specifically said I'd prefer a pair of thick woollen socks."

To green: "What did I say when you asked for advise in choosing a Divination professor?"

"You seemed to think it was a rather woolly subject, if I'm not very much mistaken."

To purple: "What is your philosophy about death?"

"Why, I'm flattered to know you remember an old man's mumblings! I said that to the well-organized mind, it is but the next great adventure—to consider that a philosophy might be a bit much, but it is a thought just the same."

McGonagall's frustration was growing—it was clear that she had no wish to spend more time sorting out the fake from the real than she absolutely had to, but also had no intention of admitting defeat.

"Minerva," the one cloaked in green said, smiling slightly, "You really shouldn't get so worked up! It's clear that the impostor, whichever of us he might be, put a good deal of work into this prank."

"Come now, Minerva," the purple cloaked one said kindly, "It's a pleasant evening and this prank is virtually harmless. Why don't you just relax and enjoy it?"

Enjoying it clearly wasn't very high on McGonagall's list of things to do. She glared at them both. "Very well, I will refrain from interrogating you, but I still think--"

Professor Flitwick, rising to his feet and smiling broadly, interrupted her with a suggestion of his own. "Might I recommend," he squeaked good-naturedly, "that we have our two resident Dumbledores duel? I daresay that we professors know our headmaster well enough to recognize his style, and it might—ahem—discourage our pranksters from trying this stunt again?"

There was a definite gleam of mischievousness in his tiny, happy eyes, and the same gleam soon spread to the other teachers—McGonagall perhaps most so, despite her proficiency in hiding it.

"A charming idea," the Dumbledore in green said, eyes twinkling as he looked toward his clone, "And I certainly hope you are up for the challenge."

"The day Albus Dumbledore isn't ready for a challenge is..." he paused and cocked his head to the side, "Well, I suppose it's likely to happen quite soon—old age and all that."

They squared off, bowing elegantly to one another, and then the world was aglow with spells.

Flaming balls of fire appeared and hurled themselves at the headmaster in purple, who dodged them deftly and retaliated by conjuring a flock of angry birds, which dive bombed his opponent.

The birds were transfigured into pillows, which fell lazily to the ground, disregarding the continued battle around them.

With a loud rumbling, the floor of the Great Hall split in two, the chasm deep and widening, but both Dumbledores easily eluded it's danger.

Ropes appeared out of nowhere, then the benches were charmed to throw themselves at the other, and the suits of armor were called forth to war against their comrades, but neither Dumbledore could secure victory.

At long last, the Dumbledore in green was hit by a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_, which startled him as he found himself a good twenty feet in the air, rendering him incapable of either dodging or bringing up a hurried shield.

Before a full second had passed, he was stunned, lowered, and deprived of his wand, and the Dumbledore in purple was the clear winner.

After a few flabbergasted moments, the applause began—one lonely Hufflepuff sixth year, joined shortly thereafter by his comrades, the rest of his house, and finally the majority of the school. Even the Slytherins looked impressed, though many of the older ones quickly masked their awe with calculating intrigue.

The teachers, too, applauded the show (though with less screaming and shouting and jumping up and down), and once the purple-robed Dumbledore had hastily _Ennervate _'d the green-robed one, they both grinned at one another and faced the crowd.

Once the racket had quieted, Flitwick, still beaming widely, addressed them again. "That was quite the show! I certainly hope our upper-level students were able to glean something from that—very nicely done!"

"But it doesn't answer the question!" McGonagall cut across him. "However good a dueller you both are, I don't think any of us could distinguish much between your styles, let alone match which one was closer to the real Dumbledore's."

"Alas, I can't help you, I'm afraid. And in any event, what good would my word be? Whatever I said, you'd still believe it was nothing more than a ploy."

McGonagall just looked at them, her expression unreadable. At long last, she nodded, even giving way to a small, amused smile—it looked almost foreign on her usually professional and stern features. "I expect the Polyjuice will wear off shortly, in any event. You have succeeded, and I think your prank is—creditable—of a few house points, as soon as we know who you are."

That decided, they both took a seat at the head table and helped themselves to food laid out there, chatting mundanely. McGonagall took a seat beside them and, with a small smile, said in her usual brisk manner, but without the severity, "I didn't want to bring this up in front of the entire school, but I'd really like to figure out which of you is the impostor. Consider it Gryffindor pride. Now, one of you, whoever is the real Dumbledore, came to me the night he defeated Grindelwald and was extremely upset about something. Which of you can tell me what that is?"

Hearing this, both Dumbledores paled drastically, looking helplessly at one another. As the silence stretched on, they caught the attention of the rest of the staff, who quickly passed along the question until everyone was in the know and staring at the two expectantly. Neither spoke, and looking at their ashen faces, McGonagall's face fell ever so slightly. Just as she was about to apologize and change the subject, the one in purple spoke at last, ignoring the others and addressing his clone kindly, but as if each word caused him to remember something painful.

"It's alright, you don't need to answer." He swallowed and turned to McGonagall with an odd sort of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Good question, professor, and it was the right one to ask." He paused, raising his clear blue eyes, which suddenly looked sad and haunted, to meet her startled gaze—she'd jumped when he'd called her professor. "Harry Potter, at your service."

The professors within hearing distance started, staring at him as if they'd never seen him before. McGonagall only blinked—presumably because she had reached the point where very little would surprise her anymore—but the other teachers had far more amusing reactions. Flitwick jumped a good two feet, Mandlebrook gave a little shriek, and one whom Harry recognized vaguely as Professor Vector fell out of her chair.

Catching the other Dumbledore's eye, Harry grinned—an fatal (in the least literal sense of the word) mistake. Unable to help it, they both began laughing in a most un-Dumbledore way: loud and boisterous, gleeful and _young. _Admittedly, it was harder than they'd laughed in a long time, and much more refreshing, but their cover was blown either way.

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron, pretending to be the other Dumbledore, said between laughs, "That was... bloody awesome!... I could hardly... keep from laughing!"

"So neither of you are Dumbledore?" growled a large, tough-looking professor, who Harry, if he took into consideration the numerous scars and bite marks, could only assume taught Care of Magical Creatures.

They shook their heads and the Ron gasped out, "Ron Weasley."

No sooner had he spoken than they collapsed once more in laughs and the the Great Hall doors opened once more.

"Minerva, have you seen my wand—Oh!" Dumbledore stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before him as Ginny trailed helplessly after him, unable to keep him distracted for any longer. "Dear me, I seem to have missed quite a show. I'd so like to have seen it, too..."

_**Diddli**_

_**dooooooooooo**_

_**Diddli**_

_**deeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**_

_**diddli**_

_**dooooooo-iI!**_

_**DiDI!**_

And when dinner was over and people gradually left the hall, talking excitedly about what they had witnessed, everyone was agreed about one thing: the prank had all the makings of a legend.

**Aaaaaaaaaaaaand**

**That's it!**

**Hope you all liked it (I put a lot of effort into that prank, let me tell you)**

**And keep those reviews coming!!**

**Please?**


	8. Of Answers Sought

Forging Reality

by DitzyDizzyDessy101

Chapter 8

XXXX Of Answers Sought XXXX

HEY-YO!

I am thrilled—beyond thrilled—to say that I got so many reviews, it blew my mind! I've passed 50, people!

Every single one of my reviewers—treat yourself to an ice cream sundae! (I would, but...there's a bit of difficulty in that I don't know who any of you are. And I'm broke.)

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I've already told a few of you, I think, that I could be found skipping around the house after checking my e-mail!

XD

Now, then:

-

_Knock knock._

Who's there?

_J.K. Rowling_

Really?

_Of course not. Just a 15 year old kid seeking entertainment._

"_Petrificus Totalus!"--_

_"Stupefy!"--_

_"Diffindo!"--_

_"Avis!"--_

A wild note of desperation and frustration edged his voice, echoing again and again in the vast chamber, throwing his pain back in his face. Each time, he yelled the curses louder, and each time, the echoes lasted longer, mocked him louder.

_"Densuago!"--_

_"Tarantallegra!"--_

_"Incendio!"--_

His blood pumped furiously, and his breaths came in short, ragged gasps. Nonetheless, he only pushed himself further—ignoring both his muscles, which were screaming for rest, and the devastation that laced the images that came, unbidden, to his mind.

_"Reducto!"--_

_"Locomotor Mortis!"--_

He was in the Room of Requirement, battling away the affects of last night's nightmares—when he'd had to watch, as if he was bound and gagged, as all the horrors of his past played again and again. He'd watched, unable to do anything—to help, to warn, even to say good-bye—as his parents were murdered before his eyes. He couldn't move—not even when Sirius was led away to Azkaban, a desperate, hysterical laugh tearing through his godfather's devastation. His heart split in two when he saw Remus slump, turn away, and drink until the pain dulled. Then the scenes sped up—Ginny lying in the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort's rebirth, Sirius falling into the Veil, Hedwig dying, Ron leaving, all the dead at the Battle of Hogwarts—

A whirlwind of pain, right before his eyes, always knowing what was coming next but never able to do anything to stop it...

"_Incarcerus!"--_

_"Expelliarmus!"--_

Fueled by his anger and desperation, he continued to jinx and curse all the shadowy targets that the Room of Requirement had supplied.

_"Impedimentia!"--_

He'd stuck a note on Ron's bed—saying that he was going to the Room of Requirement and didn't want them to follow—so with any luck they would leave him alone.

He didn't want to see the concern on their faces. Sure the nightmare was bad, and so was the feeling of dread that it gave him, but they were worried enough without him adding to the list. There was constant danger of being found out, slipping up and giving themselves away, and changing the time line irreparably. Even worse, though no one spoke it aloud, was the terror of what they would find when they returned to their own time.

_"Flagrate!"--_

What would they say if they knew that he _wanted_ to change the time line? To never return home, where he was famous and expected to defeat Voldemort?

No sooner had a bitter laugh escaped his lips than he realized the insanity what he'd just thought.

He knew that there was no way to tell what would happen if they changed the past—all evidence pointed to it creating a paradox, destroying the continuity of time and throwing the world into chaos.

And he knew, doubly so, that he wouldn't be able rest until he _was _ back home. He wouldn't abandon the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, Kreacher, Seamus, Dean, Griphook, Hagrid, or anyone else, wouldn't leave them for Voldemort's picking.

He swallowed and, with the newfound determination that stemmed from this iron-rod resolution, lowered his wand.

_**DaDooooDaDooooDiddilidiy-diy-diy**_

In an infinitely better mood, Harry made his way down to the Gryffindor common room, thoughts of the night before swimming in his mind.

The prank had, without a doubt, been an absolute success—the entire school was talking about it, the Marauders themselves were proud, and a ridiculously loud and raucous party had shook the Gryffindor Tower until early morning.

At first, the party had been a blast—loud music, pastries galore, and maybe a bit more firewhiskey than was prudent—but before long the constant attention and endless Dumbledore impersonations gave him a splitting headache.

He'd put up with it for Ron's sake—his friend was happier and more carefree than he had seen him in a long time, and there was no way that Harry was going to spoil that for him.

Even better, it wasn't long after the party started that Hermione abandoned her stoic silence in favor of smiling affectionately at Ron's grin (the only indication, they knew, that they would get that she forgave them for pulling such a foolhardy prank), and later even joined in the festivities. It had helped, of course, that they had been extremely cautious when planning what information would be safe to divulge in the prank.

Ginny, however, wasted no time on pretenses of anger—she immediately started partying like the best of them and allowing no one to forget her part in the prank: distracting Dumbledore so he wouldn't interrupt.

_**Dedidooodedidooo-daydiydee**_

"Come in."

Harry grinned as the Marauders shuffled awkwardly, looking absurdly somber as they glanced nervously at one another.

"You guys aren't scared, are you?"

Sirius glared at him. "For the record," he said, his voice hard, "The last time we were sent to Dumbledore's office, we were lucky not to be expelled. Pardon me for not jumping up and down when we're going back!"

Harry could sympathize with the feeling—how many times had he felt the same?—but he knew from past experiences that there was no way they would be sent packing because of a harmless prank like that. Admittedly, the use of Polyjuice Potion wasn't strictly legal, but what was Dumbledore going to do? Ship them to Azkaban?

His grin widened a bit—could he know more about the inner workings of the school than even the Marauders?—and he saw James and Sirius exchange disconcerted glances, as if they feared for his sanity.

He opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Harry greeted, only just identifying the feeling of excitement that had settled into his chest. A lot rested on this meeting, he knew—they would have to play their part convincingly, or else Dumbledore would become suspicious.

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore said pleasantly, with a slight smile that was partially visible through his beard.

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione followed him into the room, only a half-step behind him, but the Marauders lingered farther back and made their way hesitantly and without meeting anyone's gaze.

By the time that all eight were seated comfortably in the plush, chintz chairs positioned before the large desk, Professor Dumbledore eyes, which were twinkling merrily as usual, were trained intently at them.

The Marauders shifted uncomfortably.

Dumbledore politely offered them lemon drops from his intricate little dish, and added, "They're delightful—but I suppose you knew that, didn't you?" He smiled happily, his eyes betraying how much he was looking forward to their interview. "You were, I hear, very well informed during your prank."

They all declined the sweets. Dumbledore shook his head, his expression never wavering, and said, "Very well. I believe you eight know why I asked you to come?"

"Erm, no, actually," Hermione spoke up awkwardly, after a short pause. "I understand why you asked the others, but I didn't partake in the prank."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore pierced them overtop of his half-moon glasses, his surprise there and gone in a flash. "Then how—aha! You boys and Miss Weasley paid Professor Slughorn's storage a visit, then?"

They invariably nodded, and Dumbledore smiled kindly at Hermione. "Then, my dear, I ask you to kindly wait while I discuss the prank with your friends. I'd like to talk over some matters with you and the other transfer students later, so if you would like to take a look around my office until we are done, you are more than welcome to."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione looked pleased with the idea. She jumped to her feet, imparted with them a small good-luck smile, and began to eagerly scrutinize the many silver devices and trinkets scattered across the shelves.

When he saw that she was suitably taken care of, Dumbledore turned his attention to the others.

"That settled, I had wished to congratulate you on a most impressive prank and its flawless execution."

The Marauders jumped and exchanged looks, grins growing as they realized they were being complimented and not punished.

"That was quite an astonishing prank you pulled," Dumbledore continued, "And I was both very much impressed and befuddled when I observed the happenings in a penseive. I hope you don't mind answering a few questions I had—it isn't often that I come across an ingenious prank like that."

Harry blinked when, instead of answering, every eye in the room turned to him. Remus, Dumbledore, and Hermione were more adept at concealing it—Hermione only spared him a quick glance before she reached for another silver trinket—but the others were not.

James and Sirius simply turned to him and waited for him to answer, as if to say that it was his idea, so it was up to him.

Ron just gave a little shrug, and Ginny smiled reassuringly, so he took it to mean that they would be behind him either way.

Dumbledore had turned to him as well and was waiting patiently.

Harry had known, back in the earliest stages of planning the prank, that they would have to answer for a lot of it. In fact, he had already thought out a few answers to questions he was sure would arise.

"Of course, sir," Harry said easily, "but there may be a few tricks that we'd like to keep a secret."

"Certainly. You are, after all, doing me a favor." There was a certain gleam in Dumbledore's eyes, and whatever he said, Harry felt sure that Dumbledore wasn't going to let them off easily if they did try to avoid his questions.

"Firstly," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "I found myself utterly flummoxed when I realized that you had both my wand and its perfect copy. I naturally assumed that it was the work of a powerful replicating charm, but when I heard you mention Gregorovitch, I knew that there was more of a story to it than that. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to share?"

Harry had to restrain himself from grinning. It was a complicated but very much anticipated question, and as such he had already planned what to say.

"To be honest, it wasn't hard to figure out, sir. When James and Sirius got hold of your wand, I could tell immediately that it was powerful." Dumbledore's head jerked a little at this ambiguous hint, and Harry plowed on. "Then I realized that it was made of elder, and all the pieces fell into place. Gregorovitch used to boast that he had it, then Grindlewald was obsessed with it, however well known that fact was, and then, obviously, you defeated Grindlewald. I assumed that the Elder Wand became yours."

Dumbledore's eyes locked onto his, sharp and piercing underneath his benign smile. "You seem to have put a lot of stock in those assumptions, Mr. Potter. How did you know that the Elder Wand even existed, let alone that the rumors of Gregorovitch owning it were true?"

"What's the Elder Wand?" interrupted James curiously.

Harry spared him a glance, but before he could begin to explain, Dumbledore addressed him once again. "You see my confusion, Mr. Potter, lies in that few people know that it exists at all."

"It was Grindlewald's sign, though, wasn't it?" Harry asked quietly, watching as a dumbfounded look flitted across the headmaster's face, "The circle, triangle, and stick? The same as the sign for the Deathly Hallows?"

There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore studied him intently. Harry was only to happy to comply—he met his gaze firmly and calmly.

Watching the aged face before him and the intensity of the clear blue eyes, Harry suddenly realized the possibility that Dumbledore was using Legilimency.

Would he know if his mind was being broken into? Was his patchy Occlumency good enough to keep Dumbledore out?

Uncertain and uncomfortable, Harry shifted slightly and broke eye contact, and Dumbledore said quietly, "You seem to be very familiar with old legends. What else do you know about them?"

"Not a ton," Harry shrugged for good measure. "Invisibility Cloaks are dead useful, don't hold your breath waiting for the Stone, and just because there's no proof and something sounds impossible doesn't mean it isn't true."

By that time, Dumbledore had his expression under control, so the astonishment was absent from his face, but the gleam in his eye persisted. The twinkle was on full throttle, and Harry got the distinct impression that he was inwardly as amused as he was curious.

"If you don't believe in the Stone, dear boy, then what was that about believing in something even if it defies rationality and concrete evidence?"

At that, Ron tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a snort. His ears tinged pink as every eye turned to him, but he looked directly at Dumbledore without showing nervousness or embarrassment.

"Yeah, but he didn't say that he didn't believe in the Stone, just that he wasn't going to hold his breath for it."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up, and he gazed at Ron for a moment. "Sir." Ron said hurriedly, his ears reddening to a dark scarlet.

"Mr. Potter, do you believe that the Resurrection Stone exists?" Dumbledore asked.

"I do, sir."

"Then why do you advise not to "hold your breath" for it?"

"Because..." he hesitated, "because even if someone had the stone, he shouldn't drag those who are at peace back. They don't belong here; we can't fetch them back and expect life to go on as if they'd never died. They wouldn't be exactly alive, but they wouldn't be ghosts, either. It's just... the world's probably better off without the Stone as much as it is without the wand."

"You dislike the Elder Wand?"

Harry shrugged. "It's a lot of trouble. So many people are willing to kill because they think the wand will make them invincible."

Fed up with being out of the loop, the Marauders had gotten frustrated enough that they were willing to interrupt.

"What are you talking about?" James demanded of Harry, probably because he was uncomfortable demanding anything from the headmaster. "What are the "Elder Wand" and the "Stone," and why are they so important?"

Ginny rebuked him. "Oh, shush. The Elder Wand is a really old, really powerful wand, and it's now Professor Dumbledore's. The Stone is a small stone that can bring back the dead."

Harry glanced at her and shared a quick grin at the Marauders' dumbstruck faces.

"Is that even possible?" Sirius asked, when he was again able to talk.

"Yes," Ginny said simply. "Go on, professor. You can't be done with your questions yet."

"Thank you, Miss Weasley, your definition was both accurate and brief. And I do indeed have more questions, to be directed at all seven of you, as opposed to solely Mr. Potter, because I suspect that, while preparing for the prank, you collaborated to gather the information.

Now, when Professor McGonagall asked those questions, they were designed to address something personal that wasn't bandied commonly about. Where did you acquire the knowledge that my favorite jam, for instance, was raspberry, or that I enjoy getting socks for Christmas?"

"You'd be surprised at how many people are willing to talk about you, professor. They hold you in the highest regard," Ginny said.

"I'm very flattered."

"They knew a lot about you—the hard part was figuring out what was useful enough to come up."

"Yes, I see how that might be trying."

There was a pause, and when it was clear that no one would make any attempt to explain further, Dumbledore went on.

"I believe we have reached the matter of your duel. I was very impressed, as the two of you did an extremely accurate job of emulating my style, which is something that most find difficult to do."

He left the question implied but unsaid, and Ron answered, "We thought of ways to use Transfiguration in a duel, because we'd heard that was your style, and experimented with the more impressive looking ones, sir."

"'Course, it helped that Prongs—I mean James—is really good at Transfiguration," Sirius said happily and boisterously, trying, Harry assumed, to stay included in the conversation.

James grinned and mock bowed.

"In all honesty, sir," Ginny said earnestly, "the hardest part was getting my brother to use big words."

_**Dit-daDit-dadidadiDit!**_

After a little more discussion, Dumbledore dismissed the Marauders and asked Hermione to sit. She bestowed on Harry, Ron, and Ginny a congratulatory smile, no doubt to convey that she had been listening and approved of what they had shared and hidden.

"If I can take just a few more minutes of your time," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "then you four can be on your way shortly."

They all nodded and said something to the extent of, "Of course, sir."

"Very well, I heard tell of your debut in Professor Mandlebrook's class, and she is, to say the least, less than pleased."

"So are we, sir," Hermione said at once. "We thought the class a waste of time, and her teaching methods left a lot to be desired."

"So Professor McGonagall told me. Nonetheless, she is your teacher."

Hermione visibly had to restrain herself from interrupting.

"That said, it seems unfair to naturally assume that you are in the wrong and she in the right. Would you object if I asked you to share your memories of the class, so I might see them in my penseive?"

"Not at all," Ginny said, "Just tell us how."

"Simply focus on the memory," Dumbledore said happily, "and put your wand to your temple. Imagine that you are describing to me what happened—you walked in, listened, said somethings, started shouting, and left—and your wand will do the rest."

The process was different than Harry had suspected, but if Ginny found the instructions strange, she didn't show it. After a minute or two of trying, her wand succeeded in extracting the silvery substance, and Dumbledore put it in a flask.

"Thank you very much," he said. "Before you go, you should know that you are not expected to attend her class until I reach a decision—in fact, Professor Mandlebrook wouldn't hear of it being any other way."

_**DiddiliDiddiliDo! DuDo!**_

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Sir Harry Potter?" The motherly whisper floated up from the stones.

"Just call me Harry," he corrected absentmindedly, staring out over the lake, then asked wearily, "Do you ever feel like you're all alone?"

"How can I be alone when I have so many children to watch over?" She asked kindly.

"But do you?" he persisted, sighing heavily.

"No, I don't. As I said, I watch over my children. I see their hopes and dreams, their nightmares, their pain, and they are every bit a part of me. I love them dearly, and so I am never alone."

He turned this over in his mind.

"What about scared? Like you don't know what's going to happen, to you or your children, all you can tell is that it's not going to be good?"

"What's worrying you, child?"

Harry laughed humorlessly. "From Sir Harry Potter to child in the span of a few words?"

"Harry..."

He couldn't bring himself to answer, so he remained silent.

"Come now, I can tell you're hurting. You don't want to talk about it, I understand that. But..." she was quiet for a moment, her plea heard but unanswered. "Well, just remember that, no matter how alone you feel, you have great friends."

"I know."

"Yes, I suppose you do." She sounded satisfied, happy. He didn't respond—not even his expression changed. She said softly. "I have generations of knowledge, if it would help whatever is worrying you."

It struck him then that she genuinely cared for him as her child—she wasn't only worried, or pitying, or acting out of allegiance.

He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that his school, the place that he had always known as home, deeply cared for him.

"Do you know anything about time travel?" He asked at last.

A soft, sad sigh drifted towards him. "Very little, I'm afraid. I know all about time-turners and a few worthless and unsupported theories, but other than that, only what I've seen in your memories."

They didn't talk for a few minutes, but this time the silence was comfortable and not strained.

"They're probably worrying about me. Dinner must have started by now," Harry said at last.

Soft laughter met his ears. "I believe that a managed to buy you a little time."

Harry blinked, startled. "What did you do?"

"They were all out by the lake—in that grove to your left, you are unable to see it from here—and, your need being what it was, I deemed it too good an opportunity to pass up."

His depressed thoughts beginning to fade, driven out by her sincere, lighthearted conversation, Harry repeated, "What did you do?"

"I tripped your friend Remus, and he collided with Sirius and James, and I just _might_ have given them a slight push into Peter, and they all tumbled into the lake."

"And Ron, Hermione, and Ginny?" He was grinning now, and waiting with anticipation to hear what else.

"Well it wouldn't do to leave them out of the fun, now would it?"

Apparently, there was an entire side to his beloved school that he'd never seen before: mischievous and thriving on life and excitement.

"I persuaded the ground they were standing on to cave away. Your friends are awfully wet right about now..."

He laughed and laughed, and once he started it was hard to stop, especially with Hogwarts laughing along with him.

"Do you pull these stunts often?" He asked, having finally regained his breath.

"Sometimes," she said, "When I get bored. Admittedly, it's more fun when you are laughing with me. Now, I can't say for sure, because it hasn't happened yet, but I suspect that it was my doing that you were caught in the trick step in your fourth year. You looked like such a perfect target..."

"What?! You could have gotten me expelled!"

"If I'm not very much mistaken, you had your invisibility cloak with you, and it certainly wasn't my fault that you couldn't keep hold of that egg."

_**DoaDoiDeeDeeDiyiyiy**_

By the time he found himself at dinner, Harry was in a drastically better mood. His melancholy thoughts abandoned up in the tower where he had talked with Hogwarts, he engaged in the lighthearted conversations, thanked the miscellaneous students who congratulated his performance in the prank, and helped himself to multiple helpings of everything.

His friends were all sopping wet but in good spirits, and they all thought that the highlight of the night was when Mandlebrook, her nose buried in a book she was reading, bumped into them in the hallway, took one look at them, turned bright red, and high-tailed it and ran.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_**Tada!**_

_**Okay, maybe not my favorite chapter...**_

_**Harry's really having an up-down kinda day, isn't he? The depressing thoughts just keep catching up to him...sigh**_

_**I hope everyone liked Hogwarts—I know I did.**_

_**I had a few quick questions that I would really, really like advice on:**_

_**I got a few viruses on a few years back, so I stopped coming onto the site until we got software that is more secure than Windows. Now, though, I want to recommend the site to friends, but I don't know if I should warn them they might get viruses. Has anyone else gotten a virus using Windows?**_

_**Now that you guys are a bit more familiar with my writing, does anyone think I should get a beta? I haven't had one yet, but I'm not the best judge of my own spelling/grammer mistakes.**_

_**Thanks!**_

_**And I really hope you REVIEW!!**_

_**Lot's of Love,**_

_**Rain**_


	9. A Fool for a Savior

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 9**

'ELLO!

Hehe, sorry about the _looooong_ wait.

I blame writer's block.

And parties. And exams. And camp. And technology-forbidding mission trips. And little kids visiting from Samoa whose parents need babysitters all the time. And those conversations with God that leave me spontaneously bursting into song or crying myself to sleep. And those tremendously fantastic stories on that I read instead of writing my own. And impossible-to-write fictional teenage boys' emotions and reactions.

Anyway, it's a pretty long chapter, if I do say so myself, to make it up to y'all and to prove to myself that I made it passed the writer's block.

And, I wanted to thank all my REVIEWERS!! YOU GUYS ROCK!!

**Disclaimer: **Can I go to bed yet?? I'm tired. Come on, _please _Mommy! Pretty please with a cherry on top, and whipped cream, and sprinkles, and hot fudge and...and...and—stares at audience in confusion What are you all doing here? Suddenly horrified Don't tell me you just heard that! I'll never go out in public again!! It's so embarrassing—almost as bad as that time that I let slip I'm not JK Rowling and don't actually own Harry Potter!! I think I'm gonna crawl up in a hole and _die_!

Here we go:

Chapter 9

A Fool for a Savior

"Black and Bole, and that's my final decision!" James bellowed, red-faced, at yet another furious beater reject. "They out-flew you and they'll be better for the team, so CLEAR OUT!"

Adrenaline was running high and tempers short that afternoon, and Harry couldn't have been happier that it was James, not he, that ran Quidditch tryouts.

When James regained control over the shouts and complaints and managed to clear the field of angry, disappointed beaters, he called the prospective keepers. "Keepers! All keepers, gather 'round."

Harry, grinning, wished Ron luck as the redhead leaped to his feet. As he watched his friend's receding figure, he was impressed, but altogether surprised, to see that Ron didn't look particularly nervous.

After a brief chat with James, the keepers took off, flying laps around the pitch and running through various drills.

All around Harry, the growing crowd of spectators was nearly pulsing with excitement; what looked like the entire Gryffindor House cheered, screamed, and stomped their feet.

The energy was infectious.

As each of the ten keepers took a turn in front of the hoops and Ron saved every ball sent his way, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny cheered with the best of them.

It came as no surprise when Ron was named keeper, and then chasers were summoned to the pitch.

Again, cheering exploded from the stands, and although competition was tougher and the decision nail-biting, Ginny and a third year, Mary Moran, made the team.

Harry wove, school broom in hand, towards the pitch.

For the first time, a wave of panic washed over him, and his heart thumped loudly in his chest, his hand clenched tightly over his wand. In just a few seconds, his father would see him play—really play—for the first time.

Forcing coherent thought through his brain, he considered that, perhaps, he wouldn't have felt so nervous if he had played up to his usual standard during the pickup game the week before, but...

...But the ambiance had been so friendly, so casual.

...But he had been having so much fun just watching his parents play.

...But Morganie, who'd played seeker opposite him, had been so delighted to keep up with him and get close to catching the Snitch.

As it was, he hadn't been able to bring himself to crush her, so he had gone easy.

Now, though, when his father would be watching his every move, judging him, it was enough to put his every nerve on edge—a very bad mindset to be in, given his experience. Three times he spun around, imagining some threat, and only just stopped himself from attacking a random student.

At long last, he reached the pitch—without cursing anyone, thankfully—and joined the others.

"Alright seekers," James announced, bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet, "Let's start with a few laps around the pitch."

Harry mounted his broom and kicked off hard, sped upward by the roar of the crowd. With the combined effect of the rush of the wind on his face, the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness as he defied gravity and left the ground behind, he lost the terror that had gripped him just moments before—all but forgot, in fact, that his dad was watching him at all.

After lapping the pitch, they rolled, ducked, and dived, until James introduced the final test.

"Here's the deal," he told them joyously, very obviously enjoying himself immensely. "I release the Snitch, you go for it. Once it's caught, we start over. First to catch it twice is seeker. If there's no clear winner by sunset, then it goes by my decision of who flew best, no arguments. Any questions? No? Then on my whistle—three... two... one..."

They took off, and it was with renewed vigor that Harry dove and swooped, circling the field and scanning avidly for the Snitch. He rounded the goal posts at breakneck speed, only to tear off again in the opposite direction.

After a minute of flying freely and searching zealously, he turned half an eye to evaluate the competition.

Frank came hurtling out of nowhere and was headed straight towards him, so he spiraled downward, making sure the Snitch wasn't lurking by his head and avoiding impact. It came as no surprise that Frank had merely lost control of his broom—the teen had tried out for every position, but hadn't played particularly well and had already crashed seven times during the coarse of tryouts. What surprised Harry was more that he _hadn't _crashed during the pick-up game a week before, but he reasoned that nerves would make even some of the best fliers fumble—just look at Ron.

Harry looped around the other goal posts and rose higher in the air, raising above where fourth years Natalie Wood and Jamal Moore were soaring. Jamal, while a decent player, was intent on calming Natalie's nerves—which she seemed to find annoying.

"You're doing well, Natalie!" Jamal shouted. "See, I told you you wouldn't fall! This is easy, and no one's going to get hurt, and—"

Harry saw a glimpse of gold hovering directly beneath him, by an oblivious third year. He plummeted, angling himself—but then, just above her, he skidded to a stop with a curse—it was just a clip in her hair.

"Would you shut up already?" Natalie was screeching angrily, "You were the one who was worried, not me, so just leave me alone so I can catch the stupid thing!"

Harry spared a quick glance upward as she darted off, throwing the now paling boy a scathing look, and Harry saw that Jamal was now panicking. "Don't look down," he muttered, "Don't look down..."

Harry flew off, returning to his quest once more. A second year, Dale Jacobson, was hesitating, and his look of uncertainty grabbed Harry's attention. He shot towards the kid, watching for a glint of gold or a anything unusual. Following Dale's line of sight, Harry saw the elusive golden ball just beside a fifth year who was too busy looking downward to see it.

Without another thought, Harry hurtled towards it, and sensed more than saw Dale do the same. The fifth year looked up, terrified at seeing two people zooming straight for him, and dived to get out of the way, leaving the Snitch to Dale and Harry.

Harry urged the broom onward, allowing instincts to take over as he trailed the little ball. He and Dale were neck and neck, Harry stuck on the slower school broom but having much more experience and faster reflexes.

They darted left, then down, left again, up, right...

Slowly but surely, Harry gained more and more. By now, all the other opponents had realized what was happening and were rocketing towards the Snitch as well, but Harry was only feet away.

He stretched out an arm, felt his fingers close tightly around the ball, and, as he slowed to a stop, let his eyes drink in the sight of it. He had won the first round, but more than that, had reverted back to old times, old instincts, old skills—he had been Harry Potter the Seeker, not the Boy Who Lived, not the Chosen One.

As the realization flitted through his mind, he was snapped back to reality: the roar of the crowd as it echoed through his ears, the sight of his friends' beaming faces, the _flit-flit_ of feeling as the Snitch's wings beat valiantly against his hand in its attempt to escape.

He raised his fist and grinned triumphantly, soaring over to James and the other seekers as they gathered, and the crowd made even more noise.

"Brilliant catch Harry!" James exclaimed, beaming, "And the rest of you did well, too. Everybody ready to go again?"

They were, and at the sound of his whistle, they took off again.

Harry wondered briefly why it took _two _catches to earn the spot on the team, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Jamal grappling in the air and spun around. There, within an arm's length of the excited fourth year, was the Snitch, flitting in and out of reach.

_That's why,_ he told himself furiously, pelting towards him, _because someone might make a lucky catch._

Jamal lost it, though, looking around bewilderedly as it zoomed past him, and Harry bolted after it.

He swerved around the fourth year, then upwards, never letting his eyes leave it. He knew that, after his last catch, the other prospective seekers were no doubt keeping a closer eye on him, unwilling to let him catch another one, and so he was unsurprised to see them promptly join chase.

He was still closer, but when he was stuck on such a slow broom, it only meant so much.

The Snitch flew upward, and it was all Harry could to do keep from losing ground. The others were gaining, and he urged his broom on, begging it to speed up.

Harry, Dale, Natalie, and a fourth year girl Harry hadn't met closed in around the Snitch, all soaring upwards. Harry was still in the lead, but not by much. He reached out a hand—just a few more feet—

"AAAAH!" Natalie screamed, and Harry reflexively glanced down at her, only to see her toppling from her broom and plummeting to the ground.

Without stopping to think, he tore after her, and the combined forces of gravity and the broom's drive allowed him to reach her before she had fallen much more than thirty feet.

He leveled out below her, weight back and arms outstretched, and she tumbled into his arms. His broom rattled beneath them, falling quickly, and his instantaneous feeling of relief shattered with a horrifying realization: the broom couldn't hold them both, not when they had so much speed built up.

The ground was rushing towards them, closer and closer, and he whipped out his wand and yelled the first thing that came to mind. _"A Revewah!" _

It was the banishing spell, he thought belatedly, but by then the force of the spell whipped him around into a crazed cartwheel, and the world spun in illogical circles, like a distorted kaleidescope dancing before his eyes. He tightened his grip on Natalie, to prevent her from flying out of his arms, and tried to get his bearings.

Still somersaulting, he saw with some measure of relief that they were rocketing skyward—anything away from the ground was find by him. He shouted, "_Accio brooms!" _

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one soaring in their direction and, when it was within reach, he somehow managed to grasp the handle.

A blinding pain exploded from his shoulder as soon as he did, and stars burst before his eyes. Fiery anguish coursed through his shoulder, and after the initial gasp that was torn from his throat, he gritted his teeth to keep from screaming.

The next thing he knew was the wind against his face and the sensation of falling—they were plummeting back towards the ground. Natalie was slipping through his fingers and, an instant later, was out of his grasp.

As they fell towards almost certain death, Harry did two things simultaneously in a desperate attempt to save them. One, he swished and flicked his wand with his good arm, yelling _"Wingardium Leviosa!"; _and two, he stretched his bad arm back and threw it upwards—almost immediately, the intense pain diminished to a low throb as his arm popped back into socket.

The ground was rocketing closer, but before another second had fully passed, he was caught by Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. He skidded to a stop, his sore arm jarring painfully, cast a worried look at Natalie—she was still hovering in the air, for which he was intensely relieved—and smiled gratefully at his friends.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, mate," Ron said, grinning, and Harry knew better than to comment on his pale complexion. "Sorry we took so long, but we couldn't get through the crowd to the brooms."

Harry nodded, trying not to wince as, while they were slowly descending, his arm jarred again.

"How bad is it?" Hermione asked worriedly, catching his grimace, but Harry shook his head.

"It's not too bad, actually," he said truthfully, experimentally rolling his hand and arm with wonder, "Sore, but now that it's back in place, it's not nearly so bad." She looked as if she wanted to pursue the topic, but Harry quickly changed the subject. "So what happened? Why did Natalie fall?"

"It was Frank," Ginny answered swiftly, her voice low, and Harry got the distinct impression that she was trying to keep her voice from shaking. "He crashed into her."

"You're kidding! And she fell...?"

"Yeah, he was... I guess he didn't see the Snitch, or you guys chasing it, until everyone was clumped together, so he put on that extra burst of speed, and—" Ginny winced and shrugged helplessly.

Harry swore. "How is she? How is _he_? He's gotta be feeling awful."

"We came after you first, Harry," Hermione reminded him briskly, but not unkindly, "Natalie looks okay, Dale's got her now, but they're not even on the ground yet, and I don't see Frank anywhere."

"Right, sorry," he glanced at them, taking in their pale faces. He closed his eyes briefly. "If I didn't catch her, was anyone else ready to...?"

After a brief second of relishing in the darkness and calm, he cracked an eye open to see Hermione nodding. "Yes, Dale could have caught her. He was right behind you, but I don't know if either he or his broom are strong enough to handle it, because your school broom obviously wasn't."

Harry nodded, and Ginny asked, "What spell was that? I can't think of anything that would send you spinning upward..."

"It was—actually, it was the banishing spell, but I don't know why it—"

"Oooh," Hermione breathed, "I get it. Normally, that would have sent an object flying away from you, but obviously the whole world is too big, so it sent you and Natalie flying instead."

_"Harry!"_ another voice called from behind him, and he shifted his weight to see.

"Yeah, James?"

The Quidditch captain was speeding towards him, followed closely by Sirius, both looking more serious than Harry had ever seen them.

"Are you alright?" James asked worriedly when he was close, swallowing hard as if that could dispel his fear.

"Yeah," he answered, and admitted, more as an afterthought than anything else, "Tired, but I'll be fine." It wasn't until he said it that he realized just how drained he was—the combined adrenaline high and low had left him utterly exhausted.

"How's Natalie?" he asked after a moment, glancing back at the fourth year.

"She's fine, thank Merlin," James answered, his relief evident in his voice, "Shaken, obviously, but she's not hurt or anything."

"Thanks to you, of course," Sirius added, and Harry shrugged, not trusting himself to say anything.

"So you're okay?" James asked again, and when Harry nodded, he broke out into the same exuberant grin Harry had been seeing all throughout his jaunt to the past. "That was _brilliant _flying, almost as good as Sirius and me, and an awesome catch—"

"Harry's greatness and your arrogance aside," Ginny interrupted, laughing a little, "We should land and get Harry to the nurse or healer or whoever."

"But Harry said he's fine," James protested, rolling his eyes and refusing to allow her to rain on his parade.

Both James and Sirius, Harry noted, were quite giddy from the excitement—they wore identical goofy grins and neither could fly their broom quite straight.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but when _Harry _says he's fine, that pretty much means he's not going to kick the bucket in the next few minutes."

"Wait a second," Sirius said, distracted, frowning, and looking utterly confused, "What does it matter whether or not he kicks a bucket? Is that like a game, or something? But then..."

"It's a muggle phrase, Padfoot," James explained, and they all looked at him, surprised. "What?! They said it in that movie... you know, the one with the girl... who did that thing... at that one place... with the thing... Come on, back me up Padfoot, old buddy old pal!"

"Oh, yeah! You're talking about that one with the good-looking spy—she was a brunette, curly hair—and the plane salled, or stald, or whatever it's called when it stops working, because of that gun-thingy-magingy, aren't you? And then, later, she went swimming with that weird thingy, that was full of air so she could breath, and almost got eaten by the sharks—"

"Yep, that's the one!" James said.

"I don't remember them saying anything about a bucket..."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny looked at each other, looked at James and Sirius, and started flying down, laughing to themselves at their new friends' adrenaline-high conversation.

It wasn't until they neared the ground that Harry properly registered the noise of the crowd, and it was as though the volume had suddenly been turned up to a deafening degree. The roars and cheers and screams tore the air around him and thundered in his ears. It was as if, as soon as they knew that the danger had passed, the crowd felt the need to exalt the savior in the best way they knew how.

Ron and Hermione pushed and shoved and threatened a path through the crowd, and Ginny never wavered from his side, both for comfort and to protect his sore arm from jostling.

Luckily, someone had had the insight to summon the medic, a graying man with a whiskery beard who came hustling over to Harry as soon as he'd tended to Natalie.

"Your shoulder, then?" He verified gruffly, running his wand over Harry.

"Yes, sir."

He looked Harry up and down. "You're awfully lucky, young man," he grunted, "I'm impressed that you both survived that."

Staring at his dull blue eyes, Harry felt disconcerted, and got the vague feeling that the medic was _disappointed _that they had survived virtually unscathed.

"In any case, here you are," the old man said, handing Harry a very familiar looking vial of potion. "Pain-relief," he said unnecessarily, as Harry had recognized it on sight. "You take that and don't work that shoulder of yours too hard, you'll be right as rain in no time."

"Thank you, sir."

"Weird man," Ron said the instant the medic was out of earshot, "Kind of creepy."

"As long as this pain relief potion works, mate, I really couldn't care less."

_**Dododidodidoda**_

The crowd pressed up against him from all sides, and it was all Harry could to do to keep on his feet. His fellow time travelers stuck by his side, helping whenever they could, and the Marauders had turned up out of nowhere to do the same.

"Holy cow!" James roared, now that the shock had worn away and he could properly enjoy the excitement. He blocked some student who stumbled, almost falling on Harry as he did so. " Where did you learn to fly like that?"

"Forget the flying," Sirius bellowed, heaving the kid up to his feet, "That was some catch!"

"What spell was that?" a random teenager in the crowd shouted, "I've never seen anything like it!"

"How did you react so fast?"

"How did you catch her?"

"My hero!"

Harry's shoulder felt oddly numb, courtesy of the pain killer, but the event had left him so tired that all he wanted to do was escape the crowd and sleep for a long, long time. As they neared a hidden passage, he was struck with an idea and hissed to James, who was closest, "_Cover for me!"_ He disappeared behind the tapestry and down the passage, praying that no one followed.

Once out of sight, he ran and ran until he was half-way around the castle and three floors above where they had been, and the noise of the crowd had long since died out behind him.

He slowed to a stop in a little-known hallway and leaned against the wall, letting the chill of the stone soothe his pounding head. Breathing deeply, he drank in the silence, the calm, the simplicity—there was him, the walls, the floor. Nothing else mattered, nothing else cared. Him, the walls, the floor.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or even days, but just as he was starting to fully relax, his mantra was interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. Suppressing a groan, he yanked himself back to reality and spun around, finding himself staring into the oily black hair, hook nose, pallid skin, cold black eyes, and raised wand of a teenage Severus Snape.

"_Potter!" _The teen snarled, simultaneously slicing his wand down and across his body, throwing out a fluid, silvery jet of magic, and then he twirled it into another spell, then another, his wand moving so fast it was a blur.

Harry whipped his wand up into a shield charm, and countered again and again against Snape's attacks.

"Yes," he allowed tiredly, "But Harry, not James."

There was an instant, not even half a second, where Snape froze—his glare stayed in place and his wand up, but it was as if Harry's words had stopped time itself.

Then the moment had passed and the duel resumed as if it had never stopped, and Snape sneered at him, "Obviously. What sort of dunderhead do you take me for?"

"Just making sure," Harry said, shrugging, not falling for the act, and with that concession he stepped up the duel to the offensive—his movements were fast and furious, sharp and concise. The eyes of his pallid-faced opponent widened, processing his speed and skill as if he had underestimated it, but he gave back as good as he got.

_Accio Wand!_

_Stupefy!_

_Locomotor Mortis! Densuago! _

_Incarcerus! Reducto! Avis! Petrificus Totalus! Tarantallegra! Flagrate! Incendio! Impedimentia!_

_Expelliarmus!_

The clatter of Snape's wand echoed against the walls, rupturing the heavy silence between them, the silence that had, save for their harsh breathing, roared in their ears.

"So remind me why we were dueling," Harry said, panting.

Snape snapped, his voice frigid and mocking, "You're a Gryffindor and I'm a Slytherin, doesn't your foolish Gryffindor logic consider that reason enough?"

Harry fought the urge to close his eyes and sleep. When he answered, it was softly, forgoing the scathing retort that had risen to the forefront of his mind as a byproduct old habit from previous exchanges with Severus Snape.

"Depends, doesn't it? Are _you_ a prejudiced bigot?"

"I fail to see how attacking you before you attack me makes me a—how did you put it?—_prejudiced bigot_."

With his cold glare and superior smirk, this teenager replica of his former potions professor would, under normal circumstances, have

been intimidating, but Harry's standard for being intimidated had risen a good deal in the past year, and so he stood unaffected and wished only for a warm, soft bed.

"So what are you then? Arrogant and paranoid?"

"I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Why would I, a new student who has never met you before, have any sort of grudge against you? Why would I attack you?"

"Your new _friends_," Snape spat, "in fact, your entire house, have a grudge against Slytherins. Why should you be any different?"

"So you _are _a bigot," Harry said, as if to clarify what the teen was saying, and inwardly grinned a little at his irritation. Perhaps, if Harry played his cards right, Snape might see a little sense, and if not, well, Harry would have fun messing with his mind.

"The Sorting Hat judges personalities, so I think it is a safe assumption that we can trust its judgment."

"And what qualities," Harry asked, staring at him sharply, "cause someone to be sorted into Gryffindor?"

"Brashness," Snape supplied, sneering, "foolishness, stupidity, arrogance..."

Harry raised his eyebrows but didn't bother to correct him. "What about prejudiced?"

He paused as Snape spat, "No, but it naturally follows the _stupidity _part."

Harry ignored the addition. "Judgmental?"

"Most would consider that one particular branch of _brash and foolish_."

"Paranoid?"

"No, but foolish enough to pick fights."

"So tell me this: Why aren't you in Gryffindor?"

Black eyes burned with fury, and with obvious difficulty, Snape spat angrily, "Truth can hardly be considered prejudice, nor can wise judgment be called foolishness anymore than attacking an obvious enemy be called picking a fight."

"You're wrong," Harry said flatly, "The _truth_ is that I am not an enemy, and I didn't plan on attacking anyone. I don't judge people based on their house, either." He bit back the _not anymore_ that he most wanted to say. "You aren't a Gryffindor because you fight for yourself, not for anyone else. I've found people worth fighting for, friends I would die for, and _that _is why I'm a Gryffindor."

"Then that is also why you are a fool."

"Maybe," Harry said, shrugging unconcernedly but still gazing keenly at him, "But I've nothing against being a fool if it means that I make the world a better place for the people I care about and the other people out there who realize the value of the people they care about."

Snape, however adept he was at concealing it, looked taken aback, but Harry could only guess at whether his surprise was at the words themselves or the intensity with which they were spoken. Harry, drowsy though he was, had to hide a grin—it was a rare occasion that he bothered to say something like that, and it was profoundly strange to see someone—let alone a sullen and sarcastic teenage Snape—react so strongly.

The room began spinning and the floor threatened to rise to meet him, so Harry leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing. Taking a deep breath, he nodded wearily to Snape, who was wide eyed and had his own hand pressed against the wall for support, and stumbled blearily away.

_**Doodili-Daedili-Deedili**_

"Oh, good!" James exclaimed (or maybe even quoted, Harry couldn't be sure) happily the moment he staggered into the Common Room, "Captain Adventure has arrived!" (1)

Harry blinked at him, but said nothing, sinking gratefully into an armchair beside the Marauders and Ron.

"Ron was just telling me some of the exciting stories of your Quidditch adventures," James explained, grinning widely at Harry's suppressed groan, "so I suppose today is just another story to tell, huh?"

Harry shrugged. "They haven't all been—"

"He said," James said loudly over him, propping his chin up on an arm and leaning towards him, "that once you caught one in your mouth. Nearly swallowed it, or something."

Harry nodded.

"Now that, my good friend, is impressive."

Harry glanced at Ron, up at the dormitories, and back at the Marauders. He sighed resignedly.

"Did he tell you about the rogue bludger, too?"

_**Doo. Da-Doo. Da-Doo-Da-DooDaDoo**_

Later that night, when Harry was finally able to escape from the clutches of his newest adoring fans (and Natalie and her friends, who thanked him profusely), he made a break for dorms. Halfway up the steps, however, a voice called him back.

"_Harry!"_

"What?!" He demanded, spinning around and irritated beyond the point of rationality. He blinked when he came face to face with Lyssa, who was pale and chewing her lip.

"Sorry," she muttered, studying her feet, "But there's something that—that I think you should know."

He slumped against the wall for support, watching her intently. _Why was she so nervous?_

The sixth year took a deep breath. "Look, today... Natalie falling—obviously, I didn't want to say something in front of her, or she'd freak out—but I think... I think it might not have been an accident."

She raised her gaze to his, looking troubled.

"Lyssa," he said, all traces of exhaustion gone, "Tell me what you know."

She smiled weakly, then said in a rush, as if she thought that the faster she got the words out, the sooner she wouldn't have to deal with the fear that they caused her, "See, it was like this: We were all hanging out and stuff, all of us 6th years, and at one point we were talking about Quidditch. Frank was being his usual bragging self—you know what he's like—and he said that he was going to make the team, no matter what."

She paused, and he nodded for her to continue.

"So, or course, we teased him a bit and asked how far he'd go to make sure he did—cheat, bribe, whatever. He said that he didn't care—he'd kill if it meant he would make the team."

All things considered, mused Harry, a thoughtless brag hardly counted as substantial evidence, especially when he knew that Frank went on to be an Auror. Still...

"You believed him?"

"No, of course not! We thought he was joking, but now..."

"Now you're wondering if he wasn't," he finished, and she nodded.

"Do you think I'm jumping to conclusions?"

He hesitated. "Probably, but it's still worth looking into."

Her eyes widened and she glanced uncertainly across the room, over where Frank sat by the fire, surrounded by a small circle of friends.

"You won't tell him I told you, will you? I don't want to start any fights..."

"Not if you don't want me to," he answered, catching her glance, and she shook her head emphatically.

He nodded. "Alright. But I'm going to bed now; it's been a long day. I'll see you around?"

"Night, Harry."

After hours on end of tossing and turning, however, Harry wished ruefully that she had at least waited until morning to tell him her suspicions, because such thoughts led to troubled dreams filled with Frank's face leering, his voice sounding horribly like Snape's as he snarled, "Her life is a small price to pay."

He finally gave up on any decent sleep, just an hour or so before dawn, and pushed himself out of bed, intending to go to the common room to escape the roaring snores.

He stumbled down the stairs and into an armchair, only to violently jerk his head up in alarm when a groggy voice slurred, "Huh? Who'zair? Oh, izat 'choo, 'arry?"

He squinted into the darkness. "Frank?"

"Yep. Couldn't sleep?"

"No. Same with you, I'm guessing?"

"Right in one." He sighed bitterly. "Can't get over what almost happened today. What _would_ have happened if it weren't for you."

He sounded so scared and dejected that, try as he might, Harry couldn't believe that Lyssa's misgivings held any validity whatsoever.

"Dale would have caught her," Harry said at last, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. "And his broom's bound to be stronger than the school ones, so they wouldn't have fallen like we did. No harm done. It was an accident, and it's not like you meant it to happen."

He knew, and so did Frank, that they were empty words—if Natalie had died, it certainly wouldn't have been "no harm done", and it would be a long time before Frank was able to live with himself afterwards.

"That's just it, though," Frank whispered hoarsely, "I tell myself that it was an accident, but to be honest, I'm not so sure."

Harry's blood ran cold and the room swayed threateningly. _What did he mean?_

Frank pressed on, his voice less than a whisper but still impossibly loud in the dark, silent room. "I don't know what came over me. Every once in a while this past week, I'd get the weirdest feeling, and I'd say the first thing that popped in my mind, stuff that I can't for the life of me figure out why I was even thinking. You know, like that I'd win even if I had to kill to do it. And then..."

His voice faltered, but he didn't give up his tale. "And then, during tryouts today, I got the weird feeling again, and it was like—like everything would be right with the world if I'd just do this one thing, crash into this one person..."

He laughed humorously. "Sounds crazy, I know, but it was such a good feeling that I couldn't _not _do it—Harry? Are you alright?"

He had finally noticed Harry's ashen face and swallowed nervously. "You aren't going to turn me in, are you."

Harry continued to stare at him as if he'd never seen him before, as if he didn't even hear the question. "Frank," he said in a low voice, "The first thing you need to understand is that this was _not your fault. _You were bewitched."

"B-bewitched?"

"Yes, and with the Imperius, too, if I'm right. So there really wasn't anything you could have done."

"Oh, Merlin! What if it happens again?"

"Well, it _is_ possible to fight it," Harry said slowly, "but I don't know how to teach you how to. We should go see Dumbledore tomorrow and tell him, and you can ask him then."

"Sounds good," Frank said, sounding relieved, "But Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know that I had been under it? I didn't even know, and I was the one that felt it."

"I've read about the effects," Harry said after a few moments, "So I recognized it from your description."

"I read about it, too," persisted Frank, "but I've never read anything particularly helpful. The authors all seemed to think that if you were under it, you'd know."

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right books."

"They were Auror training books."

Harry slowly let out a breath. "Alright, if you have to know—"

"You know someone who was under it, don't you?" Frank interrupted in a whisper, sounding sad. "Sorry I pressed you—"

"No, not exactly. Actually, it was... it was me. They put it on me," Harry confided, hoping that Frank would take it as he meant it—an offering, a sign that he wasn't alone.

Frank breathed, "That's awful! And now I know what that's like! What did they make you—no, I'm not even going to ask. I don't want to know!"

Harry didn't answer, and they lapsed into silence until the first golden rays of sun set the room ablaze. They nodded to one another, parted ways, and went to prepare for the day.

Ioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioioio

:(

Now I'm depressed... But happy at the same time, because I finally got the chapter out!!

I don't know if anyone noticed, but the line "_Oh, good! Captain Adventure has arrived!"_ had a (1) next to it—that's because I stole the line from a board game called _Moods_, and I wasn't sure if it was an actual quote from somewhere. There will, in all likelihood, be more quotes from the game, just because they're funny (_There's nothing sexier than a lawnmower)_ and utterly random, so it's kind of a challenge for me, to see if I can fit them in somehow. It's fun.

Next order of business: some people didn't understand how Ginny and the Marauders were linked to the prank, so I went back to try to make it more obvious. Ginny distracted Dumbledore; the Marauders stole the hairs, wand, and potion; and they all collected data (because I doubt Harry or Ron would spontaneously recall that the old guy likes Chamber music.)

Then, my babysitting gig is over (210 bucks!!), I'm back from camp and the mission trip, school's long been out, etc., so I should (being the operative word) have plenty of time to write. With luck, chapter 10 (double digits!!) will be out soon-ish.

AND... REVIEWERS!! UTTERLY, ABSOLUTELY, WITHOUT A DOUBT, FANTASTIC!! I LOVE YOU ALL!! More, please!!

I guess that's all for now—love you, God bless you, until next time—REVIEW!


	10. Hidden Meanings

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 10**

**Hidden Meanings**

**HALLO!! I'M BACK ALREADY!! AND I MADE IT TO THE DOUBLE DIGITS!! WHOO-OOO!  
**

**Okay, it's a pretty short chapter, I admit, but it was a good place to stop, and the update so soon after last, that I couldn't imagine any readers complaining too much!**

**Again, thank you so much to every single reviewer—I read and respond to every one (although I think I might have fallen one or two behind in my haste to put this chapter out) so you guys know how happy you make me!**

**Nothing's mine—certainly not the HP world—so enjoy! (and don't forget to leave me a review at the end. Constructive criticism is beloved!)**

_"The Imperius?!" _

_"Shh! _ Hermione, keep it down!" Harry glanced hurriedly around the room, but the class was, luckily, very loud and chaotic as everyone was yelling incantations and laughing (or shrieking as the case may be) over the results of the glamor charms. "_Muffliato!" _

"Sorry," she said meekly, "but—honestly!"

"My thoughts exactly," Harry admitted, sighing.

"But—who would do something like that? What would they gain?" Ginny asked, sounding frustrated.

"I bet it was that medic," Ron said instantly, "He creeped me out."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Harry answered, "But I'm thinking it has something to do with the fact that the Longbottoms are a wealthy, powerful family, and Mrs. Longbottom—Neville's grandmother—is no doubt a force to be reckoned with. So, if they could do something to discredit Frank..."

"The Longbottoms would lose some of that power," Hermione finished.

Harry nodded. "That's one theory, anyway. There are loads of possibilities."

"What if they wanted to off Natalie?" Ron asked, "This way, they could blame Frank, or just leave it as an accident, and they get away scott-free."

"He crashed into a lot of people though," Ginny countered, "and almost hit a bunch more. Why would they have him do that if they only wanted Natalie."

"Dunno. Maybe to make it look more likely to be an accident."

Hermione shook her head. "That doesn't make sense, either. Any one of the people he hit could have fallen and died instead of Natalie, and why would she be a target in the first place?"

"Maybe she's a muggleborn?" Ron asked, but Ginny shook her head.

"I doubt it. Fred and George went to Oliver's house to play Quidditch, the summer after they made the team, and they said that Oliver Wood's whole extended family was there for dinner and joined in the game, which makes you think that they'd be magical."

"But we don't know that Natalie Wood and Oliver Wood are related; it's not exactly an uncommon name," Hermione protested.

"But they look alike and both play Quidditch!" Ron said, gaping at her, "How do you explain that?"

"Guys!" interrupted Harry, annoyed, "Does it really matter? There are loads of other muggleborns in the school, and probably loads who tried out. _Why_ would they specifically attack Natalie?"

"If you think about it," Hermione said slowly, "it didn't take much looking into the matter to find out that he was under the Imperius Curse."

"So?" demanded Ron, "What, you think they meant us to know?"

"Not us, exactly, but what if they meant Dumbledore to know? Or Mrs. Longbottom? Or Frank?"

"Why?"

"As a warning, probably. _You're weak, we're strong. We passed any defenses you have. We made you kill someone._ Or almost kill, I suppose, but it's the same thing. The Death Eaters got close to the family and got away unscathed. They could do it again."

"It makes sense," Ginny said, nodding, "That's probably it."

"As good a guess as any, I suppose," Harry said, fighting back a yawn. "I told Frank that he and I would go see Dumbledore today, tell him about it and see if he has any ideas."

"How did Frank take the news?" Hermione asked.

"I was impressed, actually. He was shocked, of course, but his first real comment was '_What if it happens again?'_ and he was thinking clearly and all."

Ginny perked up. "Are you going to teach him to fight it?"

Harry ogled her. "Are you crazy? I don't know how to teach anyone that, and—and—"

He faltered as Ron and Hermione adopted Ginny's idea, looking at him like children begging for candy.

"No," he said firmly, "and it's not even something you can teach—"

"You learned," Hermione said, "It took you four tries to overthrow it, remember, and you improved each time."

"That's different," he said stubbornly, "I just argued with the voice and refused to do what it told me. How do you teach _that_?"

"Same way Moody—er, Crouch I guess—did: give us the opportunity to try," Ron reasoned eagerly.

"I thought we were talking about Frank."

"We were, but I'd like to learn, too."

"I don't know if I..."

"Harry, you've cast the Imperius before," Hermione reminded him. He scowled darkly at her.

"I'd prefer to forget that, thanks."

"Be that as it may, the three of us want to learn, and Frank obviously does, too! Can you imagine Dumbledore casting it on him to so he can learn?"

"No," he admitted sourly, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to, either."

"Just think about it," Hermione urged, "because the Death Eaters have apparently discovered that it makes a powerful warning."

Harry scowled at her.

_**DumDoomDaymDiDum**_

Despite the fact that the day before had been long and hard, and that he had gotten very little sleep, the hours of darkness and silence had rested Harry enough for him to act almost normally.

The same, however, could not be said for Frank.

The sixth year was dead to the world, passing through the morning in a daze. He neither ate nor talked, and if it weren't for his friends he never would have made it to a single one of his classes—probably wouldn't have left Gryffindor Tower at all.

"I guess he didn't take it as well as I thought," Harry confided to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny during lunch. "He did seem alright then, though."

"You should take him to Dumbledore after lunch," Hermione advised, sounding worried, "I think Mikali said they all have free period, and we would be in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but we're obviously not going."

Harry nodded and scarfed down the last of his chili before walking over to Frank.

The teen was staring dully at his empty plate, and Harry dropped as casually as possible into the seat next to him.

"Hi Frank, Euen, Josh."

Euen and Josh nodded at him and said hello, but Frank didn't even glance up.

Harry sighed. "You've got free after lunch, right?"

When Frank didn't respond, Josh nodded.

"Then we'll go see Dumbledore then, alright Frank?"

Frank finally looked up at him, a deadened look in his eyes, and nodded slowly. "'Kay," he said hoarsely.

Harry nodded and went back to Ginny and the others, trying to shake the icy feeling of dread.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked the second he returned, "He alright?"

Harry shrugged. "Can't tell."

"Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice small, as if from far away.

"Hmm?"

"Why is Snape staring at you?"

Harry spun around, and sure enough, the greasy haired teenager studying him, eyes calculating. When he saw that Harry had noticed, however, he raised his goblet in a small salute and turned his attention back to the friends that surrounded him.

"No idea," Harry lied, and grabbed a treacle tart.

_**DiddiliDooDaDiddili-ay**_

Dumbledore peered at the two of them over his half-moon specs, and to all appearances he was as calm and unshaken as if they were discussing the weather—although he was a good deal more sympathetic. His eyes, however, were nowhere near twinkling.

"That is, indeed, quite worrying." He appraised them carefully, "Now then, are you quite certain that it was the Imperius that affected Mr. Longbottom?"

"No sir," Harry said truthfully, "but it sounds like it. Tell him what you told me, Frank. He'll know."

Frank muttered something incoherent to his hands, and Dumbledore prodded, "My dear boy, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to speak up."

"I'd get this weird feeling," Frank mumbled a little louder, staring at his hands as if the words were written on them, "and say whatever this voice in my head said. Stuff about killing to make the team. And then, during tryouts, I felt like if I crashed into someone, everything would be better, and it was such a good feeling that I didn't stop to think about it or anything."

"Yes," Dumbledore mused after a long moment of silence, "It most certainly was the Imperius Curse, and you two did well to come to me."

"Do you have any idea who might have cast it, or why?" Harry asked.

"Many, but without sufficient evidence, the list of suspects is quite large. I will, nonetheless, look into it."

Frank mumbled something else, and Dumbledore asked, "Come again, Mr. Longbottom?"

"I said, how can I stop it from happening again? From actually killing someone next time?"

He raised his eyes for the first time looking for all the world like he was clutching a lifeline and, if it broke, would be utterly lost in a world he didn't understand.

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, his fingers pressing together in a steeple-like way, before saying carefully, "There are professors in Auror training schools who specialize in the strengthening of will and presence of mind to the end that their students are able to overthrow the Imperius. It entails, however, a very rigorous mental training. If you are willing to go through with this—"

"I am."

"Then I believe I may be able to hire someone to teach you. However, there is no guarantee of anything, and you must understand that oftentimes, even after years of such training, many adult wizards are unable to successfully throw off the curse."

"Sir," Harry said, seizing his chance, "Can other students join? Ginny, Hermione, and Ron said that they would like to learn."

Dumbledore's curious gaze pierced him. "But you would not?"

Too late, Harry realized his mistake. It would be highly suspicious, he knew, if he confessed to already knowing how, so he gave the only option available. "I—yes, sir, I would like to learn."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I believe we can extend the invitation to the other upper years; I will look into the matter of finding a teacher and, once I have, announce the class to your fellow students."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You may pass along word to your friends that I have judged Ms. Mandlebrook's classes to need improvement, and if they do not better within a week, I will begin searching for another teacher."

_**Dutdutdutdutdi!**_

McGonagall rapped sharply on her desk to get their attention. "May I have your attention, please."

As soon as the class was quiet, she began, "Now, as you recall, last few classes we spent covering the theory behind using Transfiguration in duels, as well as several strategies. We also had a _most excellent_," she spared a quick glance and smile at Ron and Harry, "demonstration in the Great Hall not too long ago."

Most of the class turned to ogle Harry and Ron, knowing all too well that such high praise from a teacher like McGonagall was nearly unprecedented. James just grinned triumphantly at him.

"Today, we will move on to attempting this yourself," as small cheers erupted from around the classroom, she pursed her lips in a small smile. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you're very excited. If everyone would please pair up..."

The class hustled to do as she asked, wands drawn and expressions expectant. "No spells that will cause serious damage, remember, and you may begin."

Harry grinned at Ginny. "Shall we?"

They bowed to one another and began to duel, getting more inventive as time went on. The class was chaos, and every ten minutes McGonagall would call for the duels to stop and give generic tips.

"It is important to remember that the more you wave your wand, the more time your opponent has to get under your guard. Your movement should be small, concise, and deliberate."

"Never turn your back on you adversary. Whenever you must dodge, make sure you continue to face forward."

"Flashy spells are nice, but in a real duel against a Death Eater, they won't be as easily distracted as your classmates. Every spell you cast should have a distinct purpose."

By the time the bell rang, the class was tired but grinning, and babble broke out as soon as they left the room.

"Did you see my fire shield?"

"Was that your lion, Prongs? Pretty impressive; almost took off Padfoot's head."

"Guess what! I beat Harry!"

"You weren't even his partner, Wormtail!"

_**Dindi-Doondi-Dandi**_

An hour later, however, the excitement had worn off and they were sitting in the common room.

"I'm bored," Sirius stated.

James looked up. "Let's go find Snivillus—I mean," he glanced at Remus. "Hey Mooney?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind? Just this once? We won't go too far or anything... Please?"

Remus stared at him, obviously warring with himself. "I dunno... I s'pose, just this once..." he glanced sideways at Harry, who raised his eyebrows. He squared his shoulders with the quiet confidence that Harry had seen so often in his older counterpart. "No, you really shouldn't. I think it's already gone way too far."

"Party pooper," Sirius grumbled. "Okay, new idea... Let's plan a prank!"

"I'm not really in the mood," James admitted, and Sirius looked aghast.

"Not in the mood! Jamie-boy, you're not going soft on me, are you?"

"No!" James jumped to his feet, sounding indignant. "Of course not. I just don't feel like planning anything. Let's go _do_ something."

"Oh, okay then. Quidditch?"

"Something we haven't done yet this year, preferably."

Sirius pondered this for a while, and Remus looked up. "How about we go to the lake? It's been ages since we..."

He trailed off as Sirius, James, and Peter all looked up, excited, and tackled him.

"You're a genius, Mooney!"

"Knew there was a reason we kept you around!"

"Get off of me!"

And that was how, once things had settled down a bit (which took quite a while), they found themselves down at the waters edge.

"What, exactly, are we doing?" Hermione asked with trepidation, wading into the chill water and shivering.

"This, milady," Sirius explained, "is one of the best, amazingest, most fantastical games you could ever find. It takes much skill, much talent, much awesomeness to play, and the four of us Marauders are the best there are—"

"What he means," Remus interrupted, "is that we invented it."

"How do you play?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"See, everyone gets a surfboard and a paddle. You balance on it—like so—and propel yourself and steer the board with the paddle. Then—Padfoot, if you will—you try to ram into one another and knock the other off, without falling yourself."

Certainly the most fun he had had in a while, Harry thought. It had taken some time to get the basics of it—where your feet go, how you balance, the way to paddle straight instead of in circles—and as soon as he was getting somewhere, _WHAM!_ he was rammed from the side and sent cartwheeling into the frigid water.

Gasping and spluttering with the cold and surprise, he clambered back onto his board and glared at a smirking Sirius. He took off after the teen but was quickly outstripped, and changed direction to hit James. Failing that, too, he aimed for Ron, and the force of the collision made both of them swim.

Eventually, they tired of the game and the inventing began.

_Ker-Plush _was a game where any number of them stood on one surfboard and rocked it back and forth, or jumped off, to try to get others to fall.

_Titanic_ meant gathering on one end to sink it—a difficult task, because everyone kept slipping into the person on the bottom end, causing him to fall off.

_Geronimo _involved lining all the boards him and trying to run along them.

_**Diddi-um. Diddi-ome. Diddi-em.**_

Many bruises, hypotheria, and a mild concussion later, they were gulping down some hot chocolate and white chicken chili in the kitchens, to the delight of over-eager house elves, and then they were on their way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

"So how did you guys get the surfboard in the first place? And the idea for the game?" Hermione asked.

Sirius turned bright red, and the other Marauders sniggered.

"I was young and stupid, okay?!" Sirius defended, as if this was a regular conversation, and sounding vaguely mortified, "It wasn't my fault!"

"He came with me and my family on vacation," James explained, laughing cheekily and dodging Sirius's swinging punch, "and we were at this beach on a small lake. He saw a girl on it and—well, he _said_ it was love at first sight, but he's said that about another million girls, too.

"So he saw this girl on her surfboard, paddling around the lake for exercise and a tan, and wanted to flirt a bit. So when she stopped at the beach and put her surfboard up, he cast a quick replicating charm and got one of his own. When she was on her way back to her cottage, he jumped on his and paddled out to meet her.

"It was slow going, 'cause he kept falling and stuff, but he finally got to her and tried to flirt, but he was going too fast and couldn't steer and _WHAM! _ they're both in the water!

"She screamed a ton at him—fiery temper, that one—and all the while, he was flopping around, trying to get air—he couldn't swim back then and the board had blown out of reach—and I had to go out and rescue him from my front row seat of his performance."

They all burst into laughter, but had to run for it when Sirius flew at them, fists flailing.

_**See! I told you it was a great place to stop! Anyway, hope y'all like it—drop me a review and let me know!**_

_**XD **_

_**Rain**_


	11. Angsty Mood

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 11**

_**'AYO!!**_

_**I'm baa-aack! (Not that it was a long break, or anything**_

_**Not much to say today, other than: **_

_**THANK YOU REVIEWERS!! I LOVE YOU ALL SOOOOOO MUCH!!**_

_**And Disclaimer: Wow. I'm so proud. sniffs I just added one sentence to this fanfic. And guess what—I own that sentence. It reads "I'm warning you, Padfoot!" That sentence is all mine! This whole fanfic is mine! However, Harry Potter is not mine. By the way... what do you think of my (MY!!) fanfic. Do you like it? Review! **_

_**And...**_

_**ENJOY!!**_

_**3**_

**XX Angst-y Mood XX**

"I give up!" Ginny yelled, violently throwing the dusty old tome across the Room of Requirement. "I swear, there's nothing useful in here!"

"Harry? Ginny? Did either of you hear about Mandlebrook's class?" Hermione asked mildly, as if Ginny hadn't just shattered the companionable silence and brutalized the ancient book.

"No, what about it?" Harry asked, looking up from the books scattered in front of him.

"It sounded like the other seventh years are following our lead," she announced with a touch of pride in her voice. "A couple more Gryffindors walked out on her this morning, according to Michelle, and it sounded like the Ravenclaws were planning on engaging her in a debate, to see if she has any idea what she's talking about."

"That's all good, right?"

"Yes, so far at least," Hermione answered, "It might get out of hand, though, especially because we don't know how the classes for the lower years are. If the kids are learning anything at all worthwhile, which they might be, then we don't want them to follow our example."

"Yeah, well, chances are we'll get a new teacher in the next few days, anyway, and things will settle down."

Silence resumed for another few minutes, as each studied their respective books, until Hermione asked,"Where did you get these books, anyway? They definitely weren't in the library; we scoured anything in there that looked even loosely related to time travel."

"That old bookshop in Hogsmeade," Harry answered, trying to sound as casual as possible, and trying not to since as Hermione looked at him suspiciously.

"With what money?"

"I—okay, fine, Ron and I stole them, but we'll return them tonight!"

She glared at him, but Harry was saved her reprimand as Ron loudly entered the room, calling, "Sorry I'm late; had trouble escaping from the Marauders."

He froze, taking in Ginny's frustrated scowl and the worn book she'd thrown, Hermione's accusing glare, and Harry's defensive and placating look.

He mock-sighed in a long-suffering way and checked his watch. "Whatever the argument is, can it wait 'til later? We've got the first Imperius lesson in a few minutes."

Harry shot him a grateful look, glad for the distraction, and the four hurried to class, getting there just as the bell rang.

_**Doon-di Daan-di Dun-di**_

"Attention!" The chiseled auror trainer barked, glaring at all of them in a manner that, Harry supposed, must have been very imposing. As he glanced at the faces around him—their expressions ranging from nervous to downright terrified—Harry assumed that his efforts were effective. Harry himself, however, just thought it gave the man an angry purple hue and a stupid-looking glare.

"You lot are here to learn some of the most advanced stuff there is, stuff that, when you get down to it, leaves even the loosest terms of magic and skill far behind." He glared at them, as if daring them to contradict him. "This sure isn't going be a picnic, and if that's what you're looking for, I suggest you scurry right on outta here."

The man's prestige and air of superiority had, at first, fascinated the crowd of fifth, sixth, and seventh year students, so strange was it when coming from a man who looked as though he'd been through a meat grinder (Harry had been strongly reminded of Mad-Eye Moody when he saw the missing arm, heavily scarred face, and only half of a grizzled beard).

That had been before, however, back when Dumbledore had introduced him to the school. Now, without any other teachers around, any airs that Professor Radon put on had evaporated, as if they had never been, and before them stood a man who didn't look like he would hesitate to brutally attack anyone who so much as blinked without his permission.

"Before long, you're going to hate me and everything I stand for, you're going to beg for a break, because trust me, there is no way a bunch of pathetic little babies like you lot can measure up to my standards."

About half the class seemed to shrink at his words, while the other half sat up straighter and looked determined, as if to prove him wrong.

"I can look around the room right now and count on one hand the number of you lot that'll have a chance at this, and even then you have a lot of work ahead of you."

"You're too scared," he growled at a wide-eyed fifth year, who yelped, proving his point.

"Too weak," to Lyssa, and Harry was dismayed to see that she looked close to tears.

"Too cocky." James started, glaring at him indignantly.

"Too spontaneous."

"Too relaxed."

"Too dumb."

"Too dependent."

"Too hesitant."

"Too tense."

"Too cheerful."

"Too confident." He had reached Harry and was glaring down at him. Harry schooled his face to keep from flinching, careful to meet the professor's gaze coolly.

Radon circled the room, shouting insults left and right, but when he reached Snape, he paused, silent for a long moment before he whispered, "But you... You might have a shot."

Snape nodded curtly, his face unreadable, and Radon wove through desks in silence until he was, once again, in the front of the room.

"Haven't the faintest idea why Dumbledore thinks you lot will be able to handle it, but the pay is good, so I'm not arguing. Anytime you want to drop out, do it. I've got enough to be getting along with without babysitting a bunch of crybabies."

He sat on his desk, scowling fiercely at them all. Harry stared right back, feeling his fellow time travelers and most of the class do the same. As minutes ticked by, however, the silence started to affect students one by one, infecting them like a disease. A fifth year fidgeted, a seventh year shifted her weight, Cassie tapped her foot.

Still, Radon didn't move, and neither did Harry, determined to wait it out. In fact, the intensity of the silence and the man's glare didn't bother him all that much, because he assumed there was a strategic reason—if nothing else, it was a perfectly effective battle of wills.

Five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, twenty... Radon was stone still; so was Harry.

At last, when a full half-hour had gone, Radon nodded sharply at the class in general and stood.

"That's three of you," he grunted nastily, "Three of you fifty or so babies saw the challenge for what it was and rose to meet it. Three of you didn't fail. Just _what_," his voice rose in volume, sounding like a cross between a bark and a snarl, "does that tell you lot?

"You!" He barked suddenly at Frank, "What's your name?"

"Frank Longbottom, sir."

"And you?!"

"Severus Snape, sir."

"You?!"

"Harry Potter, sir."

"Listen up, you lot! These three are the only ones to pass the first test. As far as I'm concerned, they have a serious advantage, having proved themselves somewhat adequate in the first go. Now si'down!"

The class hastened to obey, and he slowly walked—almost stomped, really—behind his desk and sat down, propping his feet up and lounging backwards.

"Both the glory and the horror of the Imperius curse," he growled,"lies in the fact that the caster has complete power over the victim. Life or death, normality or betrayal or killing spree—it sure isn't a game, so the kiddie gloves go off, and stay off for every instant you spend in my presence.

"Your only hope, if you're ever subject to the Imperius, is to fight it—and I am here to teach you that near impossible task. Do I think any of you will succeed? Not a chance. Do I think you'll need to? Absolutely. So why am I here? Because sometimes, every once in a while, we get a miracle, and someone can think back on their training and, when they need it the most, put it to good use. And if that saves one more innocent person, then by golly I'll teach you all I know."

His coarse, hardened monologue enthralled the students as much as it terrified them, for at last they were presented with a view of reality that didn't try to protect them, didn't dare sugarcoat the atrocities that they knew occurred every day. For that, they loved Radon, at least for the time being. He was handing them the keys to a different world, and they hadn't yet understood how bleak and hopeless that world was.

"One of our first objectives is to teach you what's you and what isn't. You're going to explore your mind until you know every crook and cranny of it. Learn to distinguish your thoughts from someone else's. Then, you've got to learn good, solid, common sense. All throughout we're going to have arguments and debates, to get you to take a stand and never waver. Then, and only then, will you try your hand at fighting the curse, and if you do well enough, I'll continue training you until you've got a real fighting chance."

There was a moment of silence as he let them absorb his point, then the bell rang and he called after them, "But there will be time for all that later. For now, homework: write an essay on the way the mind, specifically yours, works. Two feet."

A mad rush for the door followed, but chatter was subdued. People threw their packs over their shoulders and, without meeting anyone else's eyes, bolted from the room. Only once they had crossed the threshold of the door did the babbling break out.

"Can you believe him?"

"Batty, I tell you!"

"Terrifying, though. When he looks at you..."

"What was the challenge? How do people win?"

"How are we supposed to know how the mind works?"

"Two feet?!"

A wry half-grin graced Harry's lips as he turned to his friends. "What do you think?"

Ron scowled, scuffing the ground. "I say we go with the original plan, with Harry as a teacher. This bloke's mad."

"He was kind of—disturbing—you know?" Ginny agreed. "And a right little ball of sunshine, huh?"

Harry laughed, but no one else did, so he stopped quickly. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, not really," Hermione answered, exchanging a glance with Ron and Ginny, "But don't you think he's a bit, I don't know, ruthless? Like he's trying to drive us all out of his class?"

"I think he's brilliant," he said quietly, and truthfully, but before he could explain to their gobsmacked faces, the Marauders burst in from behind them.

"Yeah, you would!" Sirius proclaimed, clapping him on the back. "The dude loved you."

Harry flushed, glaring at him. "It had nothing to do with—"

"Sure it didn't," James said, winking at him.

"Just listen for a second! It was like—like he's making the entire class a battle of wills. The staring contest was just the beginning, and he keeps being a complete git because he knows that anybody serious about learning how to fight the curse is going to try that much harder to prove him wrong. It's really...genius."

"What about all that about '_none of you have a chance_'?" Remus challenged, but he seemed honestly curious all the same. "What about tearing us all apart like that? Lyssa looked like she was going to cry."

Harry winced, but just barely. "He was harsh, sure, but it's a mindset problem that he's trying to correct. One, it gives people something to work with to improve, and two, learn to take the things you hear with a grain of salt."

"So it's like he said!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly, comprehension dawning. "That we've got to sort out ourselves from other people, our opinions from his."

"Exactly."

"How do you know all this?" Sirius demanded, grinning wickedly.

"Yeah, you're not a mind-reader or anything, are you?" James asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, but before he could protest, a hand clasped his shoulder from behind. He spun around, drawing his wand, but when he saw that it was Professor Radon, he relaxed marginally.

"Sir?"

"Potter, would you join me in my office for a few moments?"

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. As brilliant as the man might be, Harry had no reason to trust him, and Radon's genius made him all the more dangerous. He felt the eyes of his classmates on him and, stowing his wand but not relinquishing his grip on it, he said, "Yes, sir."

He followed the man back into the classroom and through a small, unassuming door off to the side. As he stepped into the room, nerves taught and on full alert, he blinked as the lights flickered on, squinting to see in the sudden brightness.

"Si'down," Radon ordered, kicking a chair towards him but making no move to sit himself.

"I'll stand, but thanks."

Radon raised his eyebrows, but didn't protest. "Why are you in this class?"

Harry started. "What do you... I want to learn to fight the Imperius."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not!" However honest he tried to sound, he shifted uncomfortably before he realized what he was doing, and he saw Radon focus in on the slight movement.

"_Imperio!" _Radon snarled suddenly, and before Harry could dodge or duck, it struck him full on.

The familiar feeling of false peacefulness washed over him, and for a moment he was free, floating, dreaming—but then he remembered and his anger fueled him to overthrew the curse almost instantly.

"What do you think you're doing?!" He demanded, but Radon's expression twisted into a satisfied smirk.

"I repeat: _why are you in my class?_"

Caught and without an excuse, Harry stared dumbly at him, but then the door crashed open and they both spun to face it.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, bursting in with his wand drawn, Hermione and Ginny right behind him.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, heart quickening as he snapped into action mode.

"'What's wrong?!'" Hermione shrieked, "You go off in a room with _him_," she jerked a thumb at Radon, "and we hear yelling—you tell _me _what's wrong!"

Harry slowly let out the breath he'd been holding, lowering but not putting away his wand.

"He tried to put me under the Imperius," he answered as calmly as possible, ignoring his friends' sharp intakes of breath and glares, "and at the time I thought he was attacking me, but then I realized it was just to prove a point."

"And what was the point?" Ginny asked through clenched teeth, her face pale and her wand still trained on the professor.

Radon, bemused, also had his wand raised, and pointed it at each of them in turn.

"Somehow," Harry explained, "he knew that I could overthrow the Imperius, and he was trying to prove that he knew. I just wanted to know how he knew."

They looked sharply at Radon, who was staring at each of their wands in turn, weighing his options. Four to one, Harry knew, and Radon knew, were bad odds, especially when the professor had no idea of their skill level.

Harry knew they had won when Radon sighed, defeated, and started to justify himself. No one lowered their wand.

"At first, it was nothing more than a hunch. I always pay more attention to anyone who passes the tests, especially the first one, because they tend to be the most promising. But Potter... I listened to his explanations of my actions, and frankly, they were right on the money. But more than that, they sounded like he knew what it was like to be under the curse and what it took to fight it."

He eyed Harry, like he was a unique specimen in a science lab to be scrutinized under a microscope.

"My first thought was that he had taken the class before, or had known someone who had, but he spoke with firsthand knowledge, so I knew he had actually accomplished throwing the curse off."

They were silent for a long while after this revelation, until he growled, "Care to tell me how?"

"Long story, actually," Harry said at last, settling for a partial truth, "But we had this teacher—tutor, I mean—who was paranoid and thought we all should be familiar with the Unforgiveables, because he figured, what with the war, we would have to face them at some point."

Radon nodded in agreement, and Hermione said, "Then he got the idea that we should know what the Imperius _feels _like, for the same reasons. He cast in on each of us, and Harry fought it a little."

Radon's gnarled eyebrows shot up, and he studied Harry with new respect in his eyes. "And then he taught you? Yes, that would explain it..."

"No," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable under the hard gaze, "He cast it on me a few more times, until I could throw it off completely."

"Impressive. A natural..."

Harry shrugged noncommittally, avoiding his friends' eyes. "Is that all? Can we go?"

Radon nodded, but his keen expression never wavered, and they left the room.

_**Doooggi!**_

As soon as they were far enough away and knew they weren't being followed, they all took several deep, shuddering breaths.

"He gives me the creeps," Ginny stated, shivering a little.

"Come on," Ron said, his voice shaky, "Let's go catch up with the others. They'll be wondering where we are."

They finally found the Marauders down by the lake, beneath a tree that Harry and his friends had spent many an afternoon in their own time underneath. Long before they were close enough to be in regular earshot, the wind blew the sounds of raised voices their way.

"I _hate_ this!" Sirius yelled, half-crazed and glaring, not at his friends, but at the wide expanse of lake and mountain and sky, and the wind whipped his words back towards them. "Why the war? The pain? The despair? I hate having to look over my shoulder—always wondering if the next breath I take will be my last, if the next person I see is a Death Eater in disguise!"

Remus said something soothingly, way too far away to hear, and Sirius slumped, as if defeated, against the tree. James then must have said something funny, because he and Remus and Peter laughed (although it looked a bit forced), but Sirius remained stony-faced and scowled darkly at them.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged glances, knowing the feeling all too well, and hurried towards them.

"Hey guys," Ginny said when they reached the Marauders, sounding so genuinely casual and cheerful that Harry almost forgot it was forced, "What's up?"

James grinned unconcernedly at her, ruffling his hair lightly with a swipe of his hand. "Not much. Sirius is just in a rather angst-y mood—he's got the whole '_I am a rebellious teenager, I hate the world and the world hates me'_ thing going on."

"James..." Ginny reproached slowly, exchanging a look with the others, but Remus beat her to it.

"Careful, Prongs, or he'll add _tragically misunderstood_ to the list."

"Yeah, well, don't I have that right?" Sirius sulked, still propped up against the tree, "If there's ever a time to feel like the world is out to get you, wouldn't it be when you're in the middle of a war and you're on the top of your own parents' list of enemies?"

"How literally are we talking about?" Ron asked lightly, in a brave attempt to cheer him up, "Because for a war, these grounds are awfully quiet..."

"And if we're talking about an actual list," Harry added with a grin, "then give me a minute with your parents, and I guarantee I'll be higher on the list than you."

The time travelers laughed, and Harry reveled in the laughter, the utter normality of it. Tuning back in to reality, however, he saw only the looks of uncertainty and apprehension on the Marauders' faces.

He stopped laughing.

"Something wrong?"

"I—not really, but that's kind of morbid, don't you think?" James said, sounding ill at ease, "Not really a laughing matter."

Harry shrugged. "I take my amusement where I can get it." Then he grinned, "I'm rather notorious for getting the wrong people to hate me."

They didn't grin back—didn't look even the slightest bit amused—and Harry felt his smile falter.

He shrugged again, trying hard to seem nonchalant. "Maybe my sense of humor is a bit skewed, but at least they're with me." He jerked a thumb toward Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, as if to further prove his point.

An awkward silence settled over them, during which the Marauders continued to stare uneasily at them, until Hermione said, her voice a few octaves higher than normal, "So what brought about the depressed mood in the first place, Sirius?"

"Wha—? Oh! Oh, yeah. Lot's of stuff, actually. I mean, just the fact that we need lessons for throwing off the Imperius in the first place shows how bleak a place this world is, and then we've got Radon shoving it in our faces like that..."

He trailed off, looking at them directly and staring at them with a hardened, intensified curiosity, as if determined to bore a hole through them.

"I left home before sixth year," he said flatly, "My parents practically chased me out with their love for the dark arts, and blood purity, and all that rot. There were only two weeks left of summer, and the Potters' took me in, and this past summer I rented my own flat in Diagon Alley."

Harry only nodded for him to continue, and Sirius seemed almost puzzled by the lack of response.

The story went on. "So then, I was on my own, with nothing but my friends, a handful of galleons, and my belief that blood shouldn't matter and the killing has to stop. And every day, when I went off in the Alley, I was _astounded_ because everyone was so scared and suspicious—of me, of strangers, of their friends, of their own _shadow_! What happened to make the world so hopeless?"

Sirius was working himself into a state, his voice rising in desperation, and no one seemed to know what to say to reassure him.

At long last, Hermione said, her voice once again much too high, "Sirius? Do you know what Harry's boggart is?"

He neither answered nor moved, and although Harry wished she could have left something so personal out of it, he kept quiet and Hermione pressed on.

"It's a dementor, and for a long time, we thought that meant that he was most afraid of fear itself. I don't think that's what it means, though; I think it means he's afraid of despair."

Sirius turned to face her, his face unreadable, and her voice strengthened.

"A dementor is stopped by the Patronus Charm, which is fueled by focusing on a happy memory. It's our happiness, our memories of good times, that drives away the despair."

"But it's more than that," Harry protested quietly, but he wasn't sure if he was talking to Hermione, Sirius, or no one at all, "Because just happy memories aren't always strong enough. I don't even use them, not anymore. I picture my friends, the people worth fighting for and living for, and that's much more powerful than, I don't know, my first time on a broom."

_**Dum-Dum-Dum-Diddi-um**_

"Oy! Harry! Over here!"

Harry turned around and saw the Marauders and Ron beckoning from the top of the dormitory stairs.

"What's up?" he asked when he was close.

"PRANK PLANNING!!" Sirius and James chorused loudly, and Remus hissed for them to shut up.

"We want to catch our targets by surprise, remember?"

"No one heard us, Mooney!" James said, "That's why the Common Room is so great—everyone's too caught up in their own conversations to care what we say."

Sirius told Harry, "I just had the greatest—"

"Hey!"

"Okay, fine, James just had a somewhat good idea for a prank—"

"I'm warning you, Padfoot!"

"But it's a bit tricky to pull off," Remus finished loudly over James and Sirius spontaneous wrestling match. "So we thought we could use some help. You in?"

Peter and Remus looked at one another, nodded, and gave both James and Sirius (still wrestling) hard pushes to send them tumbling down the stairs, then turned to Harry for a response.

"Sounds good! Let's get Ginny too, though, she'd hate to be left out. And we might as well ask Hermione, because on the off chance that she decides to help, she'd no doubt know a bunch of spells to make our job easier."

_**Sooooo... Whadja think??**_

_**REVIEW!**_


	12. Just Harry

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Hi everyone! **

**Once again, reviewers, you guys are AMAZING!! I love you all!**

**Secondly... hmm, can't say I'm nearly as proud of this prank as the last, but I think it's funny (at least I hope so) and something that the Marauders could have come up with. And anyway, I'm very happy with the chapter, and the prank spices it up a bit, so it serves its purpose.**

**Thirdly, NOT MINE! NONE OF IT! NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WISH IT WAS!**

**Fourthly, I HATE SCHOOL! I will deny that it starts on Wednesday until the moment my alarm goes off and I realize it's not just a horrible nightmare.(Take that, evil teachers!)  
**

**Fifthly, any newsies out there, go read Huffle-Bibbin's "Two Bits Lucky". It's great. Look for a girl named Rain, too, cause that's me! CX**

**And Lastly, ENJOY! (and please take the time to leave a review!)**

**Chapter 12**

**XX Just Harry XX**

"Isn't post usually here by now?" Michelle asked no one in particular, frowning upwards at the enchanted ceiling.

"Usually, yeah," Lily agreed, raising her eyes in confusion as well. "I wonder what could have delayed it."

Harry glanced at Ron, eyebrows lifted, but for a different reason. Ron just shrugged and went back to his waffles, ears starting to redden. "I'm sure it'll be here soon," he mumbled into his breakfast.

"Speaking of late," Cassie told Lily in a falsely cheery voice, "Look! No Marauders!"

Lily brightened considerably before narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Is that supposed to mean anything other than that they're out of my hair?"

Cassie grinned wickedly at her. "It means no more trying to impress James while maintaining that you hate him."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Lily grumbled, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "Is that the best you can come up with? Everyone knows it's not true—Oh, shoot! You spoke too soon, Cass, here they come."

Indeed, the four boys had chosen that moment to waltz into the hall, a bounce in their step and grinning widely.

"Great, another prank!" Lily groaned, "They're never morning people otherwise."

"If it's at all like the last one, I don't mind terribly," Morganie said quietly. "That one was really good."

"Not you, too!" Lily exclaimed, pretending to be aghast, "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Just stating it like it is," Morganie said innocently.

"Way to abandon me in my time of need. Some friend you are!" she said, wiping away a fake tear before grinning.

"So what do you think it is?" Cassie asked eagerly, excited now that any danger of a blow up had passed, "Any bets?"

"Something in the food?" Michelle suggested, eying her plate warily.

"Probably something to the Slytherins," Lily said, only a slight edge of malice lacing her voice. "There haven't been many fights between them lately, and I doubt the Marauders want their reputation tarnished like that."

"I bet it's got something to do with the owls," Morganie said unexpectedly, and the other girls immediately latched onto the suggestion.

"That makes sense..."

"Oh, that's got to be it; post is never late."

"Hey, you two are in on it, aren't you?" Cassie accused Ron and Harry with a wicked smile, "Come on, give us a hint!"

They were saved from answering as, with tremendous screeching and flapping of wings, the post finally arrived.

"I guess I was wrong," Morganie admitted when a moment had passed and nothing happened, but no sooner had she spoken than the scream of a howler rent the happy chatter that filled the Great Hall.

"DINITIA JUGSON!! YOU ARE A RESPECTED PUREBLOOD, NOT SOME MUDBLOOD FILTH WHO DOESN'T KNOW UP FROM DOWN! IF I HEAR OF YOU DATING ONE MORE HUFFLEPUFF SCUM, I WILL PERSONALLY ARRANGE YOUR MARRAGE TO THE OLDEST, UGGLIEST, CRUESLEST, MOST UNDESIRABLE MUGGLE I CAN FIND!"

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or not, but most of the hall had no such reservations and were openly laughing and jeering at an extremely flustered Slytherin girl.

There was clapping and _whooping, _but within seconds another letter exploded, effectively distracting the crowd. Instead of roaring angrily at its recipient, however, it screeched out a sappy and poorly written love song in ear-splitting soprano.

"OH DANNY BOY, YOUR EYES ARE SO COY, WON'T YOU BE MY BOY TOY? I LOVE YOU A LOT, WITH YOUR HAIR BLACK AS A POT, AND YOUR ARMS LIKE A GORILLA'S!"

The song paused as the singer broke out into painfully high-pitched giggles.

"SINCERELY, MEGHAN ROSE GANDERLING."

Meghan Rose Ganderling, a younger Ravenclaw, looked as mortified as she did bewildered, and everyone around her was screaming, "Which Danny? Which Danny?"

Meghan just sank under the table, mouthing something like "I didn't do it."

Another letter exploded, this one sounding like the speaker was sobbing hysterically.

"GILDEROY LOCKHART!" —sob— "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" —sniffle— "YOU SWORE YOU'D MEET MY AT MIDNIGHT, BY THE FOUNTAIN!" —anguished scream— "WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE? HOW COULD YOU STAND ME UP LIKE THAT? AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?" Whoever it was screamed wildly again, her voice cracking, before going on. "BECAUSE YOU'RE WRONG—I DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU! WE'RE OVER!!"

Laughing uproariously, Harry looked around and grinned even wider as he saw a young Lockhart at the Slytherin table, looking appalled, and that at least a dozen girls around the hall were scandalized. Harry didn't dwell on it long, as another letter started up.

"ELOISE MCKINDLE, YOU'RE A PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A RAVENCLAW! WHAT SORT OF GRADES DO YOU CALL THE ONES YOU'RE GETTING? INADEQUATE, I SAY! RIDDICULOUS! WORTHY ONLY OF A GRYFFINDOR! YOU'LL NEVER GO ANYWHERE! YOU'LL SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE SERVING YOUR BETTERS FIREWHISKEY AND POTATO CHIPS, JUST LIKE YOUR AUNT MARSHA—"

This time, another letter initiated it's yells before Eloise's finished, and Harry was deafened from shouts that came from his own table, drowning out the other letter.

"NOW, NATALIE, DEAREST, BE SURE TO THANK YOUR SAVIOR OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND GIVE HIM THESE CHOCOLATES AS A THANK YOU GIFT, AND REMEMBER THAT THERE'S A REASONABLE CHANCE HE WANTS TO DATE YOU, SO BE READY FOR THAT—"

Another letter started screaming, and another, until only snatches could be heard at a time, reverberating against the walls and ceiling and filling the hall with awful noise.

"HI MIRANDA! IT'S BEEN **SO**LONG SINCE I'VE HEARD FROM YOU—"

"HARVEY, HONEY-BEAR, LET'S HAVE A LITTLE RENDEVOUS TONIGHT—"

"—MY PARENTS ARE INSISTING I GO ON A DIET, AND I THINK I'M GOING TO KEEL OVER AND DIE FROM VEGETABLE CONSUMPTION—"

"—AND GIVE HIM A HUG FROM ME, TOO, OR A KISS IF YOU THINK HE'D PREFER—"

"—I'M NOT SURE HOW TO TELL YOU IN A LETTER JUST HOW MUCH I—"

"—DEAR WESTEN—"

"—I WAS THINKING OVER IN THE PUMPKIN PATCH, BECAUSE THAT'S ALWAYS ROMANTIC—"

"—COULD YOU SEND ME SOME VERY SUGARY STUFF IN A CARE PACKAGE FROM THE BIZZARE BOARDING SCHOOL YOU GO TO?"

"—YOUR LITTLE BROTHER HAS FINALLY STOPPED PICKING HIS NOSE, WE'RE ALL SO EXCITED! WHO KNOWS? MAYBE SOONER OR LATER HE'LL BE POTTY TRAINED AS WELL—"

"—NONE OF THOSE JELLY BEANS THAT AREN'T ACTUALLY JELLY BEANS, THOUGH, IF YOU DON'T MIND!—"

"—LOT'S OF LOVE, YOUR DARLING MUMSY!"

The laughter, not surprisingly, had reached a breaking point, and the screaming and shouting and goblet banging shook the halls and rattled the tables. All the noise blended into a deafening roar, and Harry cheered with the best of them (who, it could not be disputed, were the Marauders—it is uncertain whether charms were used to amplify their cheering or not).

_**Diddili-um / Diddili-doon-deen-doon**_

"Fine, fine," Lily huffed on the way to Transfiguration, still struggling to retain control of her laughter, "I admit, it was hilarious."

"I'm just glad I wasn't targeted," Michelle stated, grinning widely, and Lily winced in agreement.

"That was James' doing," Harry informed her, "He was adamant that no one Lily was close to was embarrassed too much."

"You know, Lily," Cassie cut in snidely, "You've got to admit, James' crush on you has its benefits."

"Not enough to outweigh the drawbacks," Lily said firmly, and, obviously not wanting to discuss it further, abruptly changed the subject. "So you four transfers are really taking Hogwarts by storm, aren't you?"

Harry blinked, Hermione fidgeted, Ginny started, and Ron went red, saying, "Wha'dya mean?"

"You honestly haven't noticed?" Cassie interrupted, sounding incredulous. ""Oh, come on, you appear randomly, two weeks into term, no one knows where you're from. You, Harry, look like you could be James' brother, and have the same last name, but he swears there aren't any Potters he hasn't met before. Ron and Ginny, you two are a little easier to understand, as the Weasley family is so big, but I've met Weaselys who claim there haven't been any girls born into the family in, what, almost a century now."

Michelle grinned, and said, "Then, there's the fact that you've been inducted as, at the very least, prank-helpers to the Marauders, and they tend to be very—closed off—about that sort of thing."

"And the pranks you've gotten them to pull are much kinder," Lily added, "More plain fun and, this last prank, general humiliation to share, not focused on one person in particular."'

"Next," Cassie said, "Consider the whole Defense Against the Dark Arts situation: before you came, we were all content to just roll our eyes at Mandlebrook and complain amongst ourselves when she wasn't around. Now, though, let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if we've got a full-blown riot on our hands."

Morganie added, "Then, and this is just guesswork here, Harry instigated the process that led to Imperius lessons, as we're assuming those are directly related to him saying he would look into Frank's strange behavior."

Harry's head was starting to spin from the constant barrage of information from all directions, but wisely kept quiet.

"Then there was the duel when you were impersonating Dumbledore—"

"Or just that entire performance in general—"

"Potter—James, that is—was blabbing on about you guys and ancient legends, and something about a stone that could make inferi, or was it bring back dead? Make you live forever? Oh, I don't know, but you get my drift—"

"He kept talking about Grindlewald, too, but we never did figure out what he was saying—"

"The nightmares—"

"Have we forgotten saving Natalie? That's a big point—"

"You got the Marauders to lay of Slytherins, or at least I'm assuming so—"

"ALRIGHT!" Harry bellowed, and they cut off immediately. "I get it!"

He rubbed his head, as a headache had started to form, and he heard Ron say, "Well there's plan '_act normal'_ scuppered, now isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Morganie asked, her bewildered look mirrored by her friends'.

Harry shrugged and said, after only a moments' pause, "Back home, we spent a bit of time in the spotlight, and to be honest, eventually you start to forget what normal is."

The girls frowned dubiously, but after a moment's contemplation seemed to accept his explanation, and friendly chatter resumed—this time, thankfully, not aimed at analyzing the things the time travelers did.

_**Dumbilidium**_

"It's really an interesting possibility, don't you think?" Hermione commented on the Transfiguration lesson during lunch as she helped herself to mashed potatoes at lunch. "Become animagus?"

Ron shrugged and, swallowing, said, "McGonagall didn't seem to think anyone could handle it, what with how busy we are NEWT year, but that's never stopped you before, has it?"

"It wouldn't hurt to look into it, would it?" Hermione ignored the slight, looking earnest. "Think of how useful it could be! We could have gotten past the dementors so much more easily, and, depending on our forms, we could use them to fight, spy, escape... any number of things, really!"

Harry, though, wasn't thinking of the uses in war, but instead his imagination zoomed into overdrive, creating an image of a stag, a dog, a werewolf, and full acceptance into their merry group...

"I don't know," Ginny said doubtfully, and Harry pulled himself back to the present. "We looked into it last year—make antagonizing and escaping from the Carrows much easier—but it was a ridiculous amount of work, and we just gave up eventually."

"Yes, I suppose we really haven't got much time now," Hermione admitted with a sigh, "Not when our most pressing matter is getting home."

The word "home" repeated itself over and over in Harry's mind, and with it, flashes of Voldemort and Bellatrix and other Death Eaters, and pangs of longing when he realized he didn't know what was happening in the future, or if they would ever return.

His expression, he knew, mirrored the morose ones of his friends, so he said, "Anyone know where the others are? Are they still in Defense?"

Hermione nodded, latching onto the subject change. "Yes, but I expect they'll be here before too long. Should let out within ten minutes or so."

Harry nodded, and they ate in silence, until Ginny giggled unexpectedly, her eyes on the door. Bemused, Harry turned to follow her gaze, and had to restrain himself from laughing aloud.

Professor Mandlebrook stood there with a distinct caught-in-the-headlights look about her, her hair wild and expression crazed.

"Dumbledore!" She screeched, "I want out! I've had enough! These children are monsters, just waiting for the opportune moment before they strike with everything they've got!"

"My dear Jenn!" Dumbledore said, looking only mildly shocked, "What has happened?"

"Well, I was teaching like normal, and they started asking these questions that were meant to make me feel stupid!" Mandlebrook said, looking near tears, "And then they started yelling these horrid things at me, and stormed out of my classroom saying how pathetic I am—and—and—"

Mandlebrook, it seemed, could say no more, for she promptly sank to her knees and broke down in sobs, leaving Dumbledore looking vaguely aghast as he hurried to her side.

"Up you get, my dear," he prompted soothingly, "and we'll scurry on over to the Hospital Wing and see about a calming draught. How does that sound?"

"But—the _children_!"

"You needn't worry about them anymore," he placated gently, steering her out of the room, "Let's just get you fixed up, and after, I think a steaming mug of hot cocoa would do wonders."

One shared look, once the duo had left earshot, was all it took to send the four time travelers into giant guffaws of laughter, which were renewed in intensity as the others showed up, all laughing, and regaled them with tales of the class—all of which grew stranger and stranger with each retelling.

It wasn't until a good twenty minutes had passed that James, looking stricken, said, "Harry! I forgot to tell you—we saw Dumbledore in the halls, and he said to tell you he'd like to talk with you in his office during the free after lunch. Password's _Sugar Quill._"

"What's this?" Cassie interrupted, grinning widely, "Not causing more mayhem, are you, Harry?"

Harry frowned, a million possibilities running through his mind. Dumbledore _couldn't_ have figured out they were from the future. Right?

"Hey James, do you know what he wants?"

James shook his head, mouth full of food, and shrugged.

"Guess you'll have to see later, won't you?" Ron said, shrugging as well.

_**Duff-diffi-dudaff**_

Harry knocked on Dumbledore's door, heard the benign "Come in," and showed himself into the office.

Dumbledore said calmly behind his desk, and said cheerfully, "Ah, there you are, Harry! Glad to see the message got to you. I hadn't been so confident, giving it to James and all, but he _is_ head boy."

Harry nodded, and said, "Almost didn't get it, sir. We were all a bit distracted by Mand—Professor Mandlebrook's—er—plight."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "Very well. We are just waiting for your Professor Radon, now—"

Harry started and Dumbledore paused, looking at him curiously. "So _that's_ why you wanted to speak with me, sir."

"Yes, that is why. Did James not tell you?"

"Er—no, he must have forgotten that part," Harry said, making a mental note to talk with him later. "But anyway, you were saying, sir?"

"Oh yes, just that we were waiting on him, but he shouldn't be long—ah, that must be him now." Then, in a slightly louder voice, he called, "Come in," and Radon's scarred face appeared from around the door.

"Excellent. Come in and take a seat, the both of you. Can I offer either of you a lemon drop?"

They refused politely, and Dumbledore steepled his fingers together, peering intensely at the two of them. To their credit, neither so much as twitched.

"Very well. How are you both doing on this fine autumn day?"

"Well enough, headmaster," Radon answered in a dignified voice, bowing his head in an elegant half-bow, and Harry had to fight to keep from starting—he had forgotten that Radon put up a show of prestige in front of others in positions of power. "It is, as you said, a very nice day."

"I'm good, sir," Harry said quickly, trying to hide his surprise. "Er, and how are you?"

"I'm doing quite spectacularly, no complaints to speak of. Although, part of my good humor may or may not have stemmed from a certain prank this morning."

Dumbledore winked at him, barely perceptively, and Harry smiled back in acknowledgment.

"If you don't mind terribly, headmaster," Radon said, his voice smooth velvet, but an impatient glint sparked in his eyes, "I'd like to get the matter settled."

"Yes, yes, of course," Dumbledore acquiesced mildly, leaning back in his chair. "I understand. On to business, then: Instructor Radon, why don't you explain why you wanted to speak with the two of us?"

Radon nodded and began, his voice laden with the strangest mixture of superiority and innocuous servility. "Class had passed normally, as I had expected it to, and the only thing of note is that Mr. Potter did remarkably well. Then, after the class was dismissed, I overheard Mr. Potter informing his friends of my motives, and more specifically, exactly what I intended them to gain through each exercise."

Dumbledore looked suitably impressed and was watching Harry with renewed interest. Harry turned his gaze to his hands and tried to think of a way to deflect Dumbledore's no doubt rampaging suspicions.

"The way Mr. Potter spoke betrayed personal experience and understanding, and I found myself questioning the origin of his knowledge. I invited him to my office to speak with him, and when he refused to answer my questions, I cast the Imperius, the spell I have been asked to teach him to defend against, on him and watched in amazement as he overthrew it with obvious ease."

Harry didn't dare look up or meet the gaze of either, as he was fully aware that both were watching him like a performing animal, but instead studied his fingernails as if cramming for a test on them.

"I see," Dumbledore said, after a long silence, "that we have here, not a matter of insubordination or rudeness, but knowledge and ability that is nearly unheard of among students."

"Indeed, sir," Radon agreed, to which Harry said nothing.

"Mr. Potter, do you care to offer an explanation?"

Harry raised his gaze at last.

"There isn't much to say, sir," he said slowly, deciding that his best bet was the story they had twisted and given Radon. "We had a tutor who was paranoid, and thought it was important for us to know what the Imperius felt like, so that if we were ever against Death Eaters, it wouldn't catch us by surprise."

Dumbledore looked intrigued and nodded for him to continue.

"So he cast the Imperius on each of us, and I fought it a bit on the first try, so he continued casting it until I could throw it off completely."

"He gave me the same story," Radon said sharply to the headmaster, "but I think you will agree it has a few holes in it."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, nodding agreeably, and Harry had the distinct impression of being ganged up on by a pack of wild animals. He shook the image from his mind. "Mr. Potter, could I have the name of your tutor?"

His heart quickened, and he forced himself to sound calm as he said, "No, sir, as I said, he was paranoid. He made us swear never to give out his name, because he thought it would make it easier for people to track him down."

"And why did he fear being '_tracked down_'? Was he, perhaps, on the run from the law?"

"No, sir, but trying to avoid the Death Eaters," Harry invented, thinking, strangely enough, of Slughorn, "He was afraid that, by not siding with Voldemort," Radon flinched, and Harry plowed on, "he would be targeted."

Dumbledore seemed to accept this answer, nodding. "But then, if you don't mind my asking, why did you sign up for the Imperius defense lessons if you already knew you were more than capable of overthrowing the curse?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It was—a combination of things, I guess. Mostly, it was that, when we first arrived, you thought we were Death Eaters, and I was afraid you would start jumping to conclusions if I showed that I knew too much."

"My dear boy!" Dumbledore, looking stricken, said hurriedly, "In no way would your abilities turn me against you! You needn't have hidden it, for I would have applauded you, not accused you, and we could have avoided this mess."

Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, not meeting his gaze, and said, "That wasn't the only reason, though. I thought it would be interesting to see how it's taught, I didn't want to answer awkward questions from friends, and I thought the kids in class might like a bit of encouragement or advise from someone other than the teacher."

He couldn't manage to meet the headmaster's eyes—the truth was, Dumbledore's insistence that Harry be open about such things was reminding him—painfully—of all the secrets Dumbledore—_his_ Dumbledore, the one from the future—had kept hidden from him.

Things like that both had had family live and die in Godric's Hollow.

Harry understood, of course, why Dumbledore hadn't told him, but he remembered the stab of betrayal he'd felt. He also knew that he owed this Dumbledore nothing—the headmaster wouldn't feel any sort of betrayal if Harry kept something secret.

None of that stopped him from feeling like a traitor, however, or imagining that Dumbledore felt as much pain from being denied the knowledge of Harry's secrets as he, Harry, had from not knowing Dumbledore's...

Harry had to stop himself from blurting out, right then and there, the whole story—that they weren't who they claimed to be—that Harry knew everything, because he was from the future.

He remembered, with aching clarity, Dumbledore's sorrow at his sister's death and the urgency with which he had striven to bring her back. That was why, of course, he had jammed the ring on, without worrying about the curse. It was why he had been dying in the first place.

What would his mentor do when face to face with someone who had traveled back in time and met his dead family? How long would it be before Dumbledore caved in to temptation and traveled to find his own?

"—what Mr. Potter's stance is to be now?"

Harry jerked to attention, only just realizing that the conversation had gone on without him. "Sorry, sir, what was that?"

Radon glanced at him contemptuously, but Dumbledore didn't see, as he was looking at Harry as well.

"No reason to worry, Mr. Potter, even the best of us sometimes find our minds lazing out on the beach now and again. We were just discussing whether or not you ought to continue taking the class, but ultimately, the decision is yours."

"I'd like to stay in the class," Harry said immediately, and it was true: he would much rather take the class then face the questions his classmates would raise. Lily and the girls had already commented on how abnormal they were acting, and it was best to keep suspicions on the down-low.

"Are you certain? Yes? Then would you like to be just another student, or would you like to be Professor Radon's assistant?"

"Just another student, if you don't mind," Harry said gratefully, not even allowing himself to consider the other option. If he did, he knew that he would not be able to resist teaching, which was something they couldn't risk him doing.

To his surprise, however, Radon looked distinctly displeased at his answer. "These kids need your help, Potter! There's a dark lord out there, and they need to be prepared! I can't do that on my own! They need another point of view on this, so it's more "good Auror, bad Auror" routine and less that I'm out to get them!"

"I know they need help," Harry snapped, more viciously than necessary, "I know the costs, and I'll help all I can from the sidelines, but _I can't get involved!"_

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he moved swiflty until he was standing right in front of Harry, crouching down to eye level. "Is someone threatening you, Harry? Are you afraid you are going to get hurt if you stand out too much?"

"No! It's nothing like that! I just don't want to—"

"Calm down, Potter!" Radon said sharply, just a hint of the growl he'd shown in Dumbledore's absence wearing through the dignified voice. "We just want to help."

Harry clamped his teeth together and nodded, not saying anything.

"Now tell me," Radon said, patient once more, "What is it that is stopping you from helping me?"

Harry stared at him, at a loss and cursing himself for backing into such a corner.

"Are you being threatened?"

"No."

"Are you afraid you'll make a fool of yourself when you're trying to teach?"

Harry paused, considering taking that easy way out, but shook his head before he could stop himself. "No."

"Are you worried about what your friends will say?"

He was silent again, pondering. No, he wasn't, technically. But he did like the idea of sinking into the background. Being a nobody. Just Harry.

Before his eyes swam the image of himself, seven years old and just another nameless kid in second grade. Until Dudley showed his face and started beating up anyone who dared talk to "that Potter freak".

He saw himself, a first year with no idea why so many people were staring at him, pointing, whispering.

Then he watched as his imagination conjured an image of him leading the DA, teaching them, guiding, and encouraging.

He suddenly understood how, through that club, the other students began to see him as one of their own—more talented at defense, perhaps, but just another kid who wanted to make a difference in the world.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would never be "Just Harry," that he never could have been. So if he was going to be known for something, why shouldn't he get to choose what to be known for?

"Okay," he said at last, "I'll help teach."

_**Dunchi-Dunchi-Dukee**_

"I'm telling you, it's possible!"

"I don't believe you!"

"It's got to be possible—look, it says so, right there!"

"What'dya mean?"

"Look, page 387, paragraph fourteen."

"Merlin! That writing is _tiny_!"

"Focus, Padfoot!"

"What's the point? It's not even possible!"

"It is, too!"

Harry looked up from his essay over to where the Marauders were arguing. Deciding that whatever they were discussing was, undoubtedly, more exciting than the equations to determine the strength of truth serums, he went over to join them.

"What's impossible?" He asked, and they whirled around in record time, slamming their book shut and cramming it, and their notes, under the table.

"Nothing," they intoned simultaneously.

Harry stared them down, and it was James who broke first—he glanced at Sirius, who glanced at Remus, who looked pointedly at James, who just opened his mouth to speak when Peter said, "Ah, well, you see, James really doesn't want anyone to know."

"I'm not going to spread it around," Harry promised, curiosity piqued.

James shot Peter a warning look, but the boy shrugged it off. "Alright then, just so you don't get any ideas," Peter said, "We're trying to write a letter."

Harry blinked, then rolled his eyes. "How thick do you think I am—"

"Not just any letter," Peter hurried to explain, "But a specific type that requires a lot of thought, research, and guesswork."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"A love letter! One that Lily won't burst into flames, like she has the last ten—"

"Wormtail! Don't go telling them that—and it's not even true!" James exploded indignantly.

"He's right, you know, it was eleven, not ten," Remus corrected, and Peter flashed him a grin.

"Right, eleven, sorry," he said over James' howls of outrage, "And we got this book to give us a clue how to do it. It's not working so well, though, and we're not sure it's possible. I for one, don't think it is, but," he shrugged helplessly, "try telling that to James."

That was when James broke, tackling Peter to shut him up, and Harry realized that, while discussing it with the Marauders might be more entertaining, doing his potions essay was probably better for his health.

**Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Such fun! I'm all happy now! Send me a review and--guess what!-- it'll make me happier!**


	13. Broken

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 13**

Heyo!

Not a bad wait, if I do say so myself, especially considering I've been grounded...

Thanks, a million thanks, to my reviewers! They certainly helped keep me cheerful! (And look! I updated quickly! See a connection?)

**Disclaimer: **I OWN HARRY POTTER! Well, not him exactly, but pretty close. Okay, so I just own the books, but that's still pretty good. No... not the rights. Not the idea either. Yes, I do own something! I own copies, bought at K-mart, now BACK OFF!! cuddles books to chest

(have I used this disclaimer yet? Sorry if I have...)

I don't own The Blob, either. Just in case you were wondering.

Broken

Harry gaped, mouth hanging open in disbelief, at Remus's plate.

"Chocolate chip pancakes?!"

At Harry's outburst, Ron jumped in surprise and turned, diverted from his own breakfast and conversation. "Where the bloody hell did you get those?" He demanded or Remus, eyes raking up and down the table for a platter.

Remus shrugged awkwardly and tiredly, muttering something about house elves and special favors.

Taking note of Remus's exhaustion, Harry's eyes widened as he saw other details that had previously escaped his notice: the way the other Marauders ranged protectively around him, almost possessively; the drawn lines on his face; the small spark of anticipation in Sirius's eyes...

That was when Harry finally grasped the elusive piece of the puzzle—it was the night of the full moon.

Peter, in sharp contrast to his fatigued werewolf friend, looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he jumped in eagerly with an explanation.

"It's something of a necessity," he said by way of preamble, "You see, Remus's mum is seriously ill, and Dumbledore says it's alright if he goes to visit her once a month. He'll go see her tonight, and be back tomorrow 'bout lunch-ish."

Harry, nodding sympathetically along with the explanation, didn't aggravate the glaring holes in the tale—why Remus wouldn't just visit on a weekend, for one.

"But pancakes? With chocolate?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

"I was getting to that," Peter said, grinning sheepishly as a blush dyed his cheeks, "Seeing his mum so ill tends to put our _dear_ friend into a grouchy mood. Chocolate is our 'magic' remedy."

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to grin back, because he knew that his attempt at a smile would more resemble a grimace.

"What about normally?" Ron asked, when he too had gotten over his battle with his emotions, "Why don't they offer chocolate chip pancakes to the rest of us? We could use a treat now and then."

Peter shook his head quickly, eyes widening, and although Harry couldn't be sure if he was acting or not, the effect was good as he said, "If you value your life, you wouldn't dare ask! It took us forever—and lots of calming and cheering charms—to convince the poor devils that we weren't insulting their cooking by wanting to smother it with something as common as chocolate."

"_And,"_ cut in Sirius, leaning over to join the conversation, "that was even after we promised they could make the chocolate themselves, if they wanted to."

As the conversation went on around him, Harry found himself wondering why he hadn't realized before that the full moon was looming.

Had Remus grown remarkably adept at hiding his secret, after so many years of practice?

Had the change been so gradual that it was hardly noticeable until it was so late?

Or had Harry been so distracted by the recent dramas—outwitting Dumbledore and Radon, pranking, "taming" the Marauders, avoiding suspicion, the Defense Against the Dark Arts fiasco—that he had failed to notice the suffering of his friend and future surrogate uncle?

"We'd better go," Sirius announced suddenly, checking his watch and jolting Harry out of his unpleasant thoughts. "Potions starts in five."

Harry blinked—taken by surprise because it was normally Remus rallying them for class on time—but he supposed it made sense that the others would step up while Remus was incapable.

By the time they had filed into the potions classroom, Remus looked more awake—the sugar must have done him a world of good—but not much. He answered questions semi-intelligently, spoke when spoken to, and was, by some miracle of the Marauders doing, paired up with Lily.

Lily, taking pity on him, brewed the potion herself.

"So I was wondering," Lily said idly, glancing sideways at Remus as she added powdered bison horn with one hand and stirred with another, "Yesterday's prank. Were the letters real, or did you make them up?"

"Mostly real," Remus replied tiredly, with a weary shrug, but didn't offer any more explanation.

Behind them and beside Harry, Sirius leaned forward and answered, "Real letters, Evans." She turned to face him skeptically, and he continued, "We embellished them a bit, though. Maghan Ganderling's the most. I don't think she ever meant to send it—it was still pretty bad—but we found it ages ago and were looking for a way to use it."

James, hearing their conversation from his seat in front of Remus and Lily, turned and added, "But Jugson's was all real. Complete surprise, too. All we knew was that here would be a howler, we didn't know who or why. I was kind of banking on it being me or Sirius, but," he shrugged, grinning, "I take what I can get."

Lily bit her lip, struggling to restrain a smile, before she gave in to a smirk. "Giving away your secrets, Potter, Black?"

"Absolutely, Lily," Sirius said, without hesitation, and purposefully reverting back to first names, "That's the plan: utter humiliation and laughter at first, bit of rep saving later. We've already leaked to, what, four different gossips?"

"Meghan Ganderling's was really harsh," Lily said, frowning and unconvinced.

"Yes, it was," Sirius admitted unabashedly, "Which is why we're openly saying that we changed hers the most. We know her well, so we know that we haven't scarred her for life, and in a year or so she'll crack up over it and tell it at parties. If she doesn't already."

A small smile tugged at Lily's lips, and she allowed, "I s'pose."

James's mouth fell open. "What?!" He exclaimed loudly, faking shock, "No blow ups? No anger? What have you done with the real Lily Evans?"

Lily's face, which had been so close to a smile, hardened. "Don't presume that you know me, Potter."

James backtracked hastily, "Right, sorry. What I meant is—is I'm surprised, is all. You usually hate our pranks."

"I can appreciate a laugh," Lily said, her face softening, "As long as it's a good prank, not bullying."

James grinned, looking not at Lily but at Harry. "That's what you said, isn't it, Harry? How did you—?"

Lily watched him closely, all traces of irritation gone. Without taking her eyes off James, she said, "That's impressive, Harry," she glanced his way, "It's just a shame you haven't got as much talent at potion-brewing as Marauder-taming."

Harry froze. "What?"

He looked bewilderedly from the faerie eggs in his hand to the blue-purple concoction in his cauldron, but couldn't see anything wrong.

Lily sighed and took the eggs from his hand, then rummaged around on her desk until she found a beaker full of snargaluff sap.

"Here," she said, handing him the beaker, "Measure out nine mililiters of this."

Harry hurried to comply, and she explained, gesturing with her hands to help prove her point, "If you'd added the eggs, it would have exploded. Technically, according to the book, you should have added them one at a time, so the explosion is small and doesn't slop over the side."

"Then why shouldn't we do that?" Sirius said, "I'll do it; give me the eggs."

Lily shook her head and continued her lecture, hands moving constantly as she talked, "The small explosions drain the shelf life, so the potion can only last about a month before it goes bad. If you add snargaluff sap, though, it neutralizes the explosive properties of the banshee hair, and we have a more stable, longer lasting potion that's just as effective."

Lily was starting to remind Harry both of Snape's sixth year book—the Half-Blood Prince—and the over-excited cooking class teacher he'd had back in elementary school.

The teenage girl sighed, misinterpreting his blank look.

"Here, I'll do it."

Remus snorted in his sleep.

_**Dom-di-num-di-dom-di**_

After classes, James sought out Harry, babbling excitedly, "I had to take it up with McGonagall, but she agrees that there's no need to hold try-outs all over again—you flew the best, caught the first Snitch, and caught Natalie, who's much more important the the Snitch—so no worries there: you're on the team!"

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Harry, grinning. "Know when practices will start?"

"Erm, they were s'posed to start tomorrow night, but as half the team's got detention for the Howler Prank, I think we'll have to push it back until the weekend."

Harry nodded, undaunted. "Sounds good."

Harry was going to say more—about how maybe they could start another pick-up game beforehand and include Lily, Cassie, Morganie, and everyone else again—but the words died in his throat. He stared, his blood running cold, at a passing fourth year.

The kid was pale and freckled, with pale hair and a Hufflepuff tie, and looked blood-curdlingly, goose-bump raisingly familiar.

Barty Crouch Junior.

To all eyes, he must have looked like just another Hufflepuff, laughing at some joke or another, slapping a friend on the back. No one had any idea what he would grow up to become—or that, in just a few short years, he would torture two fellow schoolmates to insanity.

"Harry?" James asked, his voice sounding far away and ringing strangely in Harry's ears, "What's wrong?"

Harry couldn't answer him, just continued to stare, petrified, until Ginny turned around, grabbed his arm, and led him quietly but firmly into an empty classroom, calling for the others to go on ahead.

She steered him into a chair and sat behind him, rubbing his back comfortingly until he could get a handle on himself.

"Are you alright?" she asked eventually, once he had calmed down some.

"Yeah," Harry answered, swallowing hard to get around the lump in his throat, "Just caught by surprise, is all."

"By what? What happened?"

Her warm brown eyes, concerned and scared as they were, were like a lifeline and he was a drowning victim.

"Crouch Junior."

Her eyes widened. "He's here? Oh, that's—"

"Awful!" Harry burst out before she finished. "Yeah, I know. I just saw him, and thought of Frank, now that I know him, and the time we saw both he and Alice at St. Mungo's, and then I remembered Neville—how broken and lost he seemed when we first met him—"

"Harry!" She cut across him loudly, and he clamped his mouth shut. She hummed approvingly. "Much better."

He scowled at her, and she said, "You didn't see much of Neville this past year, so you don't know how behind the times you are. Er, no pun intended," she added and Harry snickered darkly.

"Neville led us all, called the shots, made the plans, and did whatever he could to protect the younger kids. He's come a long way from the poor third year whose boggart was Snape."

Somehow, someway, Harry managed t

o crack a grin at the memory—a real, non-mangled grin—but it faded quickly. "I shouldn't have let it get to me. And there I thought I was doing well at separating the future from the past."

"You are," Ginny assured him, "But everyone's got the right to break now and then. Why, just the other day, I actually fainted when your mum walked in the room, and that's even after I knew she was around..."

_Driki-Driki-DONG-DONG_

They made it to dinner late, and Harry immediately knew something was different. For one, instead of the usual boisterous chatter and laughter, voices were hushed and confused—and severely disgruntled.

"What happened?" Harry asked, sliding onto the bench between Ron and James. Remus was noticeably absent.

"Dumbledore's only just announced it," Hermione said, "but Radon's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for years four to seven. Mandlebrook still has first through third."

"You're kidding?"

"No," Hermione said, frowning, then eyed Harry speculatively. "You thought he was a good teacher, right? That he actually knew what he was talking about, not that he was mad?"

"Er, yeah, I did," Harry said, not seeing where this was going, and a few people on either side must have heard, for they turned to look at him curiously.

"Good!" Hermione said decisively, and people looked at her, startled. "What? That means he will probably be a good teacher, if a bit harsh."

Most people, however, didn't seem to put as much stock in Harry's judgment, and there was a good deal of grumbling at her words.

"Speaking of Radon," Harry said casually, "I heard he got an assistant teacher for the Imperius lessons."

The response was instantaneous. Ron jumped a good foot in the air and Ginny stared at Harry with wide eyes. Peter gave a startled little squeak, while Hermione frowned, thinking. James choked on his pumpkin juice, slopping it all down his front.

"What?!"

"An assistant teacher. I overheard when Dumbledore wanted to talk with me. Cool, right?"

Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself, watching the baffled faces of his friends.

"Just hope he's a bit more sane than Radon," Ron said, "Because if you put two mad Aurors in the room together—"

"Someone will think you're telling a joke!" Sirius broke across him, laughing.

"I was going to say neither will make it out alive," Ron said, frowning, "but I like your punch line much better."

_**Doyngngngng!**_

Harry and Ron mad a big show of going up to bed early that night, yawning loudly and complaining about how exhausted they were. The Marauders had accordingly left them alone in the dorms, and the two of them sat on Ron's bed playing chess until the moon rose and they heard the first howl.

Excitement coursed through Harry as he and Ron grabbed their brooms. Quickly disillusioning themselves, they pushed off into the night.

Cold, bitter air whipped at Harry, and a single rush of wind chilled him to the bone. Undaunted, he sped off into the night until his toes just brushed the tops of the trees. It wasn't long before the chorus of howls, barks, and cracking branches, led him to his quarry.

It was better than Harry had dared hope for—he was there, floating weightlessly above his father and his friends as they tore through the forest: magnificent stag, sleek and majestic; a werewolf, kept somewhat sane by the presence of his friends; a black dog who led the expedition deeper and deeper into unexplored places.

Unicorns fled from them; Centaurs watched in stony silence; Thestrals circled, unseen, around them; a pack of Blood-Sucking Bugbears drifted closer before scurrying away again in fright.

And two teenage boys watched from above, wishing for a penseive with which they could relive the night over and over again.

_**Diddili-oom Diddili-am**_

Harry couldn't help but grin, even as Radon barked at him about lesson plans. It was impossible not to—if he so much as thought about the night of the full moon, he feared he would break out in hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny, boy?"

Harry only shook his head, nonplussed, and Radon growled. "Fine. As long as you keep in mind your job, it shouldn't be too disastrous. You know what to do?"

"Get their attention however I feel like, tell them the importance of listening to you, await further instructions," Harry recited in a would-be bored tone, but his grin was evident in his voice.

"Go on then, kids'll be here soon."

Radon limped briskly to his office and slammed the door shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, Harry sank into the professor's chair and tried to look casual, despite the waves of anxiety washing over him.

How could he teach if he didn't even know how to explain throwing off the curse in the first place?

The first students trickled in in small groups, all stopping dead in shock when they saw him. He waved them in with a small smile, refusing to answer their questions, and they took their seats looking flabbergasted.

A familiar flash of bright red hair was at the doorway, and Ginny exclaimed, "Harry!"

There was a scramble and myriad of voices from outside the door.

"Wait, what?" questioned Ron.

"Harry's here?" James said.

"Bit eager to please, isn't he?" said Sirius, grin clear in his voice. "Showing up early and all that?"

Ginny, realizing by now that she was blocking traffic, scurried out of the way with wide eyes, and the rest fell into the room.

"You're the assistant?" Hermione yelped when she caught sight of him at Radon's desk, and Harry nodded, grinning.

Ron, who had at first seemed confused, quickly tensed. "Why didn't you tell us?" He demanded, sounding stung, "And all this time we thought we'd be getting some other nutcase from the ministry!"

"It was funny!" Harry said defensively. "You guys came up with the best theories—my favorite was that aliens from other planets had been discovered and had crazy mental powers that they were going to teach us..."

He trailed off as James jumped and bowed. "That was all me, thank you very much. But Sirius added a bit about them actually trying to invade our minds to find our weaknesses so they could take over our world."

"Erm, okay," Harry said, deciding it would be best to stay out of it, "Er, if everyone could take a seat..."

He left it hanging, and the students did as he asked, looking uncertain and a little tense. Given the last lesson, he didn't blame them.

He took a deep breath.

"Here, look," he said, and rummaged around in his pocket. He pulled out the blackthorn wand, his fingers brushing against the Elder and Holly wands to ensure they were there as well. He passed the blackthorn to a sixth year Ravenclaw in the first row, who took it, looking stunned.

"No wand, see? No way at all to cast spells. But I'd wager that within five, ten minutes, I'll have about half of you essentially under the Imperius anyway."

Eyes bugged around the room, and although a few were looking skeptical, Harry felt a surge of confidence.

"I also think," he continued, "that almost all of you will fight and overthrow it, because whatever Radon said last time, it isn't that hard if you know what you're doing."

Only a couple had the guts to look hopeful. Harry plowed on.

"In fact, by the end of this class, I don't think any one of you will ever have to worry about this curse again, because you will be able to overthrow it almost effortlessly. No one will ever be able to force you to kill your family with a spell, or do anything else against your will, because the Imperius will be useless against you."

His voice gained certainty as the other teenagers around the room did too—although a couple were still tense and disbelieving, almost everyone was relaxing into a optimistic self-assurance.

"It won't take long—just a couple easy drills and you'll have it mastered, and be a force to be reckoned in a battle of wills. So relax—you've got this covered."

He had almost everyone under his grasp by now, but those he didn't were looking more and more skeptical. He decided it was time to move on.

"The first thing I want you to do," he said carefully, "is take note of the way you're feeling. Is it relaxed? Free? Like nothing can go wrong?

"Then you've got to, er, know that feeling completely."

Some people scrunched their eyes closed in concentration, and Harry felt that he'd done enough.

"So," he said quietly, after a long pause, "I guess I win, now don't I?"

Eyes snapped open in confusion, and a few were looking at him like he'd lost his marbles.

He smiled lightly.

"The danger of the Imperius curse isn't so much that it forces you to do what it tells you—because that can be fought—but that you don't realize that you _should _fight it. You feel peaceful, relaxed, free—it's almost like you're floating or drifting, and like if you just do this one little thing, everything will be perfect. And then a little voice tells you what to do, and you obey it without question."

An odd, disconnected part of him remarked that lecturing felt absurdly strange—all he'd ever done in the DA was give a few tips here and there—but not unpleasant.

"So think about it: How many of you felt relaxed and free and like nothing could go wrong? Like everything would be perfect if you just did this one thing?"

As realization dawned around the classroom, faces fell. A fifth year Gryffindor who had looked particularly hopeful was now wearing a crushed expression. A sixth year Ravenclaw resignedly pulled out her notebook to take notes. Snape looked almost triumphant, an I-knew-it kind of glint in his eyes.

"You think you're disappointed now?" Harry asked the room at large with a dark chuckle. "Imagine if you came to to find that you'd murdered your best friend, and had to relive the memory every night in your nightmares."

A Hufflepuff shuddered, glancing sideways at the friends around him. He wasn't the only one.

"So if you don't realize you're under the Imperius in the first place, how can you fight it?" Sirius blurted out suddenly, and a chorus of agreement met his words.

"You become familiar with the feeling," Harry answered strongly, starting to pace around the room, "learn to recognize it and fear it at the same time. Obviously, it will be different from just feeling relaxed, but it's the same principle. You feel it wash over you and it erases every thought from your head. It's like your dreaming, but you've got to fight it—got to argue with the voice telling you what to do, got to stand firm and not give in."

There were more than a few awed glances, Harry noted as he met everyone's eyes, and he wondered if he'd overdone it. He knew from experience that it was always hard to communicate effectively with people who hero-worshiped you...

"Hey Potter," came a growl from behind him, and Harry spun around only to find himself face to face with Radon. He quickly moved aside, looking at the trainer curiously. "How many fought well?"

Understanding immediately, Harry obediently pointed out the few who had been skeptical and unmoved, and Radon looked them up and down, appraising critically.

"Alright, I know Snape and Longbottom, but who're you lot?"

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Malorie Dondonville, sir."

"Stephen Brookes."

"Vincent Wilkes."

"Mary McDonald."

Radon nodded once to himself, then barked for them to come to the front of the room, where they stood restlessly, uncertainly.

"You seven," he said, his voice hard, "have apparently done _something_ right, if you didn't believe Potter. Maybe you're the few who know how to use their brains, rather than just believe what you want to hear. I don't care, particularly. But it's important that you _resisted. _So right here, right now, you get to take the final exam and see if you pass."

It didn't take long for them to figure out what he meant: Malorie Dondonville, who naturally had a rosy complexion, paled such that, if he hadn't know better, Harry might have confused her for a ghost. Snape's eyes narrowed and lips curled into the same snarl Harry had grown accustomed to over the years. Hermione and Frank looked eager, in contrast to Mary McDonald who looked so skittish that Harry was surprised she didn't bolt from the room. Vincent Wilkes clenched his fists. Stephen Brookes bit his lip uncertainly.

The class as a whole seemed to hold its breath as Frank bravely stepped forward and Radon waved his wand.

"_Imperio!"_

But he offered no rebellion, and was instantly on his knees and clucking like a chicken, flapping his arms wildly.

With a disgusted snarl, Radon ended the curse and Frank returned to his seat, face burning and heartily disappointed.

Hermione went forward eagerly but did no better—in no time at all was she performing a disturbing impersonation of "The Blob."

Harry watched in silence as the rest went, no one hesitating for more than a second or two before caving in to Radon's commands. Stephen, a Ravenclaw, held himself in a headstand for a few minutes; Hufflepuff Malorie skipped around the room asking everyone in sight to marry her; Vincent, a burly Slytherin, stood very still and sang in a deep baritone:

"_Songs unsung_

_And melodies forgotten_

_A heart so cold_

_A fairy tale gone rotten_

_"I look at you_

_And know it will never be_

_You're cold and cruel_

_And much too good for me."_

Naturally, by now the entire class was laughing (but with a hint of unease), and Snape impassively took his turn.

"_Imperio!"_

As with all the others, Snape's face went slack. The difference, however, was that his eyes quickly hardened, and it looked like he was warring with himself. Harry felt his breath quicken—he was fighting!

Seconds ticked by, impossibly slow, until Snape croaked weakly, "No. No, I won't."

He wasn't strong enough, however, and as Radon's face intensified in concentration, the fight went out of Snape's eyes. Immediately, the teenager was spinning like a ballerina.

Triumphant, Radon ended the curse. "Look at that! Would'ja look at that! Finally, someone who fights! Almost won, too, Snape. What do you say to trying again?"

Six tries later, Snape was looking faint and had yet to throw it off completely. Each try was getting worse, and Radon regretfully lowered his wand, stating that they'd try next time, when he wasn't so tired.

"No!" Snape rasped, "No, just once more."

Radon looked at his urgent face and, slowly, ruefully, nodded, a touch of respect in his eyes.

_**Doiaio-Daio-Deee-do**_

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Radon snarled at Harry, once the class had left, "Do you realize how many ways that could have gone wrong?"

Harry stared defiantly back at him, but wasn't given a chance to defend himself as Radon continued ranting.

"Your job is to show them they have a chance, not tell them they're stupid for trying!"

"I didn't—"

"But no, you decide to go out there and tell them you can Imperius them with just their emotions! How is that helping, I ask you?"

"The point—"

"I don't care what the point was, you hear? All that matters is that you gambled your safety—giving some random girl your wand, of all foolishness—and their chance at success for some half-baked idea that it might—"

"Save their lives!" Harry burst out angrily, and Radon was shocked into a brief silence at his vehemence. Harry continued before the instructor found his voice. "Yes, I knew what I was risking, but I also knew that any damage to their chances at success could be repaired, and this was the best way I could think of to teach them. It's not so much about strength of will yet, because they've got to battle against the calm in the first place!"

Radon was watching him with a strange expression on his face—Harry thought it might have been a grudging respect, but he wasn't too concerned either way.

"You still put yourself in needless danger," Radon growled, "You should have kept your wand. I expect you know by now that many of your classmates could very well be among You-Know-Who's followers?"

"I didn't put myself in danger," Harry said shortly, his hand reaching, unbidden, towards his pocket and three wands. He stilled the motion as he saw Radon's eyes zero in on it.

"_Accio—"_

Harry whipped his wand out while yelling,_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"—wand!"_

It was too late to counteract either charm, however, and Harry's wands were zooming towards Radon even as Radon's was flying towards him. Harry had the advantage, however, as his disarming charm had also blasted the instructor of his feet and into the wall behind him.

Harry sprinted over and and grabbed his wands from where they'd fallen, holding Radon's tight in his hand, and stared at the professor.

"Well?" Radon demanded, "Aren't you going to help me up?"

"No." Harry said flatly, looking down at the prone form. "I want to know why you just attacked me."

Radon glared at him, but Harry knew that the flicker of fear in the auror trainer's eyes wasn't just his imagination. "I was curious, is all," Radon growled, "It wasn't anything near an attack."

"You're the one who just said it was foolish to give up my wand," Harry reminded him, "Why should I put myself in danger to satisfy your curiosity_?" _

"You were with me! I would have been more than capable of fending off an attack."

"I don't doubt that," Harry said darkly, "but if you were the one attacking me, then that wouldn't do me much good."

Radon ground his teeth. "Are you accusing me of what I think you are?"

"Of being a Death Eater? No. I'm just keeping my guard up. Constant Vigilance and all that."

Harry was furious and had to focus on keeping his voice calm, so he almost didn't notice when Radon suddenly went white. "What did you just say?"

Caught off guard by the sudden change in direction, Harry repeated, "That I'm keeping—"

"No, not that! _'Constant—"_

_"'Vigilance,' _yeah. Why?"

Feeling more and more bewildered as the seconds went by, Harry stared at the man as he started muttering incomprehensible half-sentences.

"Nothing, just an old friend of mine used to—why, I remember at his fourteenth birthday party—so paranoid, you know—always his catchphrase, _'Constant Vigilance,'_ it was—"

Backing away slowly, not turning his back in case it was a ruse, Harry made his way for the door, mulling this new twist over.

Had Radon known Moody? Taught him, perhaps, or gone through school together? The way Radon was going on, you'd think they were good friends... Harry had never met him in the future, however, so not good enough for Moody to invite him into the Order...

"You'll talk to Snape about extra lessons until he can throw it off completely?" He asked.

Radon looked up, seemingly startled by his presence, and nodded distractedly. Harry continued backing up.

When Harry had reached the door, he cast one last dubious look at Radon and slipped out, laying the instructor's wand on a shelf by the door as he left.

_**Whew, right? Lot's going on...**_

_**Hope you all liked it! (especially the bit about chocolate chip pancakes—yummy!)**_


	14. Skewed Normality

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 14**

**Skewed Normality**

**Dun-Dun-DaDUN!!**

**YAYAYAYAYAYAY!**

**REVIEWERS! YOU GUYS TOTALLY ROCK! I GOT BEHIND IN RESPONDING THEY WERE SO AWESOME! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES YOU MADE ME JUMP UP AND DOWN WITH EXCITEMENT!!**

**Note: Work with me through the fluff, guys, it does lead somewhere, even if it's not very well written.**

**DISCLAIMER: If it was mine, well, let's just say it would be at the bottom of a landfill by now. (Or, preferably, been recycled long, long ago). It would be just that bad.**

**So, yeah. Here you go!**

"I don't get it," Ginny said, frowning, and the familiar crease appeared between her eyes.

"Hmm?" hummed Harry, grinning up at her over top of his and Ron's chess game. She was staring, perplexed, at the house board.

"Isn't the last weekend of September always a Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Er—yeah, I guess so. Why? Is the notice missing or something?"

"It's not up here," she confirmed, sounding dejected and depressed. "Well, shoot, I was really looking forward to going to Honeydukes..."

"They canceled Hogsmeade weekends for the past couple years," Hermione informed them, glancing up as she turned a page in her book. "Too many attacks and such—it became too much of a risk."

"Oh_, man!_" Ginny pouted, at almost exactly the same time that Ron blurted out, "That's stupid."

Calmly, as if she was entirely unconcerned—which was as surprising as it was relieving, because Harry had expected an immediate explosion of scandalized rage—Hermione raised an challenging eyebrow, deliberately and carefully marking her page and laying her book down on the table.

"Stupid?" she repeated.

"Well, yeah," Ron said, shrugging in a would-be nonchalant way and staring her down, as if he'd lost interest in watching one of his bishops take out Harry's last knight. "There was always a risk—that's why parents have to sign the forms. They should at least let seventh years out, because we're all of age and know how to defend ourselves."

"Outnumbered against Death Eaters?" Hermione didn't sound angry, though—just vaguely amused.

Harry and Ginny watched, perplexed, as the debate continued.

"We'll be out in the real world in less than a year," Ron reminded her, "Maybe it's about time they let us figure things out on our own. It's not like we haven't before."

"_We _have," Hermione agreed, emphasizing the _we, _"but _they_ haven't. Come on, can you really see Sirius or James, or any of the Marauders, lasting long in a battle? Do you think Lily could, I don't know, withstand torture at Bellatrix's hand? What about Morganie—could she survive in the forests like we did, just trying to avoid Death Eaters? Maybe—just maybe—they might be able to tackle a troll if they worked together and didn't lose their heads. But fully capable Death Eaters?"

Ron frowned, suddenly uncomfortable, and the silence stretched between them.

"When you put it like that..."

"They've _got_ to be prepared though!" Ginny exclaimed. "This war isn't going to end before they graduate—what happens then?"

There was an awkward pause as her words struck home.

"I think we all know the answer to that," Harry said quietly, his voice soft against the crackling fire. "We know all too well."

The melancholy silence consumed them for a moment as the bleakness of the situation settled in, the only sound being the crumble of Harry's queen beneath Ron's bishop. Then Ginny spoke up, but not before casting a wary look around the room to make sure she wasn't overheard.

"On a lighter note," she said, "Harry, would you accompany me to Hogsmeade tomorrow? I wouldn't think it would be too hard to sneak out."

_**Dom-Dinum-Di-Dom-Dinum**_

Beside him, absorbing the familiar sights and smells of Hogsmeade just like he was, Ginny breathed in deeply.

A buttery, sugary aroma was wafting up from Honeydukes, mixing with the faint scent of gunpowder, of all things, coming from the joke shop (he couldn't be certain, but it didn't look like Zonko's). The streets were brown—covered with leaves—and frozen, the wind a bitter chill. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him.

"Merlin, it's good to get out for a while," Ginny said, winding her hand through his, "Much as I love the castle, and your parents and Sirius and them—well, it gets overwhelming."

Harry laughed. "_You're_ telling _me_?_"_

"Eh," she said noncommittally, a small smile playing on her lips, "Good point. So where to?"

He considered, but the scent from the candy shop was beginning to make his mouth water, and he offered, "You mentioned wanting to go to Honeydukes?"

She grinned and nodded, and before long they were stepping through time and reliving countless other trips to Hogsmeade in the warm, sugary-scented confines of the candy shop.

"'_Lyric Lollies'_?" Harry read in surprise, picking up a small jar in confusion. "I've never heard of these."

"What?" asked Ginny, looking up from a stack of bright red sweets, "Oh—mum loves them, she used to have a secret stash, and she'd eat them while she cleaned."

Harry must have still looked confused, because she wove through the shelves and stacks of candies to him, explaining, "They bewitch you to sing, and their lyrics are actually really good. Some are funny, others romantic, or sad—you know, I heard from somewhere that there's a total of about one hundred thousand songs enchanted on each lolly."

Harry whistled softly. "Wow. And what are these things?"

"Jelly rings. Look pretty, taste sweet, mild love potion mixed in."

Harry hastily dropped the package, remembering his and Ron's mishap with Romilda's Love Potions in sixth year. "Remind me to never go near one of those."

"Oh, believe me, I don't want you fiddling around with them, either."

He smiled lightly, running his hand slowly over the shelves and lighting on the containers of things that he'd never seen before. "These look like pumpkin pastries, just..."

"Bigger? Yeah, I bet the economies down pretty far—no one's shopping for pleasure with a war going on—so they've got to make them count for more. It was like during the second rise to power, remember?"

"I didn't notice." As he turned to examine a box of assorted goodies, a blur of color flashed past the window, and it was a moment before his brain caught up.

He knew that face...

"Ginny!" She whirled around, dropping her collection of candies at the urgency in his voice.

"What?"

"Follow me."

Checking to make sure the store keeper wasn't looking—he'd hate to be held up by something like a suspected shoplifting—he darted to the door and sprinted down the street in the direction the blurred figure had gone.

Hesitating only briefly at the opening between two shops—it was a dead end—his feet drummed on the sidewalk as he threw himself down the street.

He deliberated again as he neared the Three Broomsticks, but he kept going—it seemed like an unlikely destination.

His eyes, scanning so avidly for the blur, fell upon the Hog's Head and sudden realization hit.

"Harry! What's going on?"

Harry slowed, though it cost every bit of will power he had, and tugged Ginny into a deserted alley.

"Seventh year Slytherin out of school and in a hurry. I think it's Mulciver, and if it is, then he—"

"Becomes a Death Eater!" Ginny finished with a gasp. "Did you see where he went?"

"I think that he went to the Hog's Head. It makes the most sense, at least."

Ginny immediately started running again, and Harry only just managed to grab her wrist and hold her back.

"What are you waiting for? We've got to—"

"Be unnoticeable!" Harry hissed, "We can't just go barging in there!"

She deflated and stopped trying to tug away. "_Oh."_

"Yeah," said Harry, "_Oh."_

He released her arm, and she carefully scanned up and down the alley, taking special care to check windows. "We're clear," she informed him, seeing nobody, and he snapped the Invisibility cloak over the both of them, crouching low to allow it to cover their ankles.

As quickly as they dared, they shuffled towards the Hog's Head at an agonizingly slow speed—but they had barely gotten twenty yards (taking up an impressive amount of time) before Ginny moaned quietly in his ear.

"This is so slow!" She whispered, "Can't we forget the Cloak and just, I don't know, try to look casual as we go in?"

"I don't want to run the risk of them recognizing us," Harry whispered tensely back, just as agitated at the delay, "But if you have any ideas, let me know."

They continued to trudge towards the pub, until Ginny started. "I've got it!" She whispered, before waving her wand and disillusioning both of them. "No one will notice a couple of disillusioned feet!"

Heart racing, Harry kissed her—but only briefly—and they hurried the rest of the way at a much faster pace.

The door swung open just as they approached it, as an old man, with impeccable timing, left, and they slipped through the opening. Only then did they realize just how lucky the timing had been. It was nearly deserted—a hooded figure nursed a drink alone at the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore was slowly wiping the bar counter with a filthy rag, and the object of their query—it was definitely Mulciber—slouched in a booth near the back, sitting across from a girl Harry didn't recognize, but who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. The bar was otherwise empty.

Exchanging a quick glance, Harry and Ginny hurried as one over to the booth, close enough to hear their quiet voices.

"I don't understand," the girl was saying, sounding breathless and slightly hoarse.

"I didn't expect you to."

"So you're leaving me? Dumping me? But I thought we had something—special!"

Harry wrinkled his nose, revolted, and saw that Ginny looked to be of the same opinion, but just as he gestured to clear out and leave the two lovers be, Mulciber's next words made him freeze.

"I'm leaving the country, Shyanne, and I'll be back. Besides, I can't exactly go against—" he lowered his voice to almost a whisper, such that Harry had to strain to hear him, "—the Dark Lord's orders, can I? You don't want me dead, do you, darling?"

"No!" She exclaimed, aghast, loudly enough that her voice rang noisily in the quiet pub. The hooded figure at the bar turned to look at them, then shook his head and threw down a few sickles, leaving the pub without a backward glance.

"Keep it down, will you!" Mulciber hissed, and Shyanne squeaked a quick, "Sorry."

One of the two—Harry thought it was Mulciber, but couldn't be sure—breathed out a long, slow breath.

"That's why I can't tell you any specifics," Mulciber explained in a hushed voice, "but no, I'm not dumping you. I wouldn't do that."

"Father's working on getting me my first mission," Shyanne confided after a long moment, breathless again. "What's it like?"

"I guess it's different for everyone," Mulciber said, his voice quivering a little in remembrance, but Harry couldn't be sure if it was excitement or fear. "Mostly terrifying, though. In case you screw up. Intoxicating, because of all the power you hold at your finger tips. After your first couple, that's all you feel: intoxicated, powerful, invincible."

"And you've done how many now?" Shyanne asked, "Four?"

"Five. Three Imperius, two quick Killing Curses. I'm still holding out for my first Crucio mission, but so far Imperius is my favorite."

Harry looked at Ginny, and saw his shocked expression reflected in her own. "Frank," she mouthed in sudden realization, and he nodded.

_Could it be...?_

"Puppet-master," Shyanne's voice was light, teasing, and Harry felt disgusted by it even through his shock.

"In the most ironic sense of the word, yes."

"I hear they're offering classes up at the school to defend against your preferred curse."

"They are," replied Mulciber, "But they're a complete joke. The teacher doesn't even think anyone can do it—Snape got pretty close, but that wasn't anything the teacher did. Then they've got some new prick—one of the guys that transferred this year—spewing off nonsense, but he doesn't know what in the Dark Lord's name he's doing."

Harry allowed himself a small smirk. Nonsense, was it? Mulciber had been one of those most bewitched by his mind games...

"Let's talk about something else," Shyanne whispered, "I don't like talking about the Dark Arts."

"You perform them fine, don't you?"

"Something else, please! Like—why were you running up the street? It wasn't very inconspicuous..."

Harry gestured to Ginny and they shuffled out of the pub, hearing at their backs as Mulciber exclaimed, "You saw that?! I'm going to kill that twit Lestrange—he swore it was essence of Venomous Tentacula pus!"

"That stuff that creates a strong notice-me-not aura?"

The pair of lovers didn't notice as the door slipped open and shut, but Harry didn't want to risk it if Aberforth had, so they hurried in silence back to Honeydukes.

Neither dared to talk until they were safely in the tunnel and on their way back to school.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed excitedly, whipping off the Invisiblity Cloak and staring at him with wide, excited eyes.

"I know!" Harry exclaimed, and suddenly they were both talking at once. "Can you believe—"

"After all this time looking for clues—"

"Another seventh year!"

"—the odds of overhearing that particular encounter—"

"—Wait 'til we tell the others!"

"Harry!" Shouted a new voice, with a different sort of urgency, and Harry jumped, looking around wildly. "It's me, Hogwarts."

"Oh," Harry said, taking a deep breath and pressing a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart, "Hi."

"You have to be careful, child—James and Sirius are heading your way, trying to get to Hogsmaeade, and are unaware of your presence. And you should be aware that one of my seventh year Slytherins, Bishop Mulciber, is out of the castle and I believe that he has gone to Hogsmeade as well."

Harry hardly heard her last sentence, panic-stricken as he was at hearing that his future father and godfather were on their way. Being out of the castle was bound to raise the Marauders' suspicions, but he couldn't just avoid them entirely and let them wander off into the village—not when there was at least one Death Eater there...

"Quick, back under the Cloak," Ginny urged, holding it aloft for him, Harry shook his head.

"No, we can't..." His voice trailed off as voices started echoing from down the tunnel.

"We really should go out into the Muggle world one of these days," Sirius was saying, "Cause some chaos. Everyone knows who we are here, and they're always expecting something."

"You just want to get mixed up with the people-men again, don't you, Padfoot?" James scolded lightly, "Although I will say that that was a ton of fun." (1)

"_Policemen_," Sirius corrected, "You've got to know this stuff if you want to royally piss of my parents."

"Alright, alright, I'll keep working on it. But we've got to get out to _The Garage_ first, get your motorbike."

"What do you take me for, an idiot? I know the drill—Merlin, I'm the one that came up with it in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." There was a slight pause. "Hey! Padfoot, you see something up there?"

"Where?"

"There! _Lumos!"_

Ginny grabbed Harry's wrists and yanked him towards her before he could respond, and planted her lips on his, kissing him passionately. Harry enthusiastically joined in.

Harry almost forgot about their audience when he heard a yell. "Oi! Who's there?"

He broke the kiss, squinting into the bright light of James's wand.

"James? Sirius?" asked Ginny, and Harry had to give her credit—she sounded genuinely confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Breathing, technically. And walking, living, talking to you—" James rattled off with an obnoxious smirk.

"_Why_ are you here?"

"I think the better question," drawled Sirius arrogantly, but he was grinning, "is why are _you _here. But then again, maybe actions speak louder than words. Is snogging your favorite pastime, maybe? Ordinary broom cupboards not quite good enough for you?"

Harry felt his face burn, but Ginny said defiantly, "What's it to you?"

"_Ginny," _he moaned, but she brushed him off.

"Nothing," said James, "Nothing but possible future blackmail material. People will believe just about _everything_ we say, you know."

Ginny rolled her eyes and changed the subject, asking, "So where does this thing lead, anyway?" She gestured down the tunnel. "We found the passage way, but weren't sure it was safe to follow. Never can be too careful, what with the war and all."

"Aw, come on," James said, "That thrill of not knowing what to expect is the best part. I mean it's like, bewitching, or something. Every moment, everything might make or break, you might gain all or lose all. Don't tell me you don't like any of this!"

"I've had enough of that feeling to last me lifetime," Harry said shortly, "Foolish risk into an unknown tunnel that could lead anywhere and to anyone—innocent or Death Eater—is not something I'm looking for."

Sirius and James sighed in unison.

"He's just like Remus," Sirius pouted, his face twisting into a long-suffering, highly disappointed expression.

"What a party-pooper," James agreed, mimicking Sirius's face..

Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything.

"Well, since you're such a coward but such fun company, we'll tell you where this thing-a-majig goes," Sirius said, "but on one condition."

Harry stiffened, instantly on guard, "What?"

"You buy the first round of drinks!" James exclaimed, clapping him on the back, and Harry felt himself relax.

But still he hesitated, as he was entirely unprepared for any intense emotional battles—but not only was he looking forward to spending more time with his father and godfather, it was doubtless better to be with them, should the Death Eaters attack, than to be far away in the castle.

"Okay," he agreed, "Deal."

**Diggili-Doogili**

It was Hogsmeade like Harry had never seen it before.

Not only was it a remarkably different experience to walk through a village with your should-be-dead father and godfather who were both at least partially insane (And shall never tell _how _they manipulated the miniature chimera into the bottle of firewhiskey), but also did the two somehow know every crook and cranny of the place—many of which Harry had never ventured into before.

"Why are we staring at a fountain?" Ginny asked, clearly less impressed than Harry was by the vivid dragon sculpture—its body a glittering opaque blue, its flames dancing across the splashing and leaping water.

James grinned at her. "It's not the fountain itself," he said, "but the potion in the water. Tell me, why do people toss money into fountains?"

"Er, I don't know, for good luck?" Ginny guessed unconcernedly, shrugging, "Or to help some charity or another?"

James nodded. "For luck, exactly. So watch," he tossed a handful of knuts in, and Harry watched in fascination as the dragon reared his head, stared at James as if it was truly seeing him, and spat silver-tipped flames to catch the teen full in the face.

"Diluted Felix Felices," explained Sirius as the flames continued to blast, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, onto his friend's face. "Lucky Potion. In this case, absorbed through the skin. Out of the way, Prongs, I want a turn."

Harry wanted to ask why they were so interested in being lucky today, of all days, but didn't get the chance as they were whisked off to other destinations as soon he and Ginny had taken their turn as well.

"This is Honeydukes, the sweet shop, but it used to be packed all the time, couldn't get through the line, so we found a great little place on a back street in that direction, and Padfoot and I like that place better, anyway."

"Let's duck down this alley, I need new Quidditch gloves and they're cheaper at Swift than at Quality."

"You can just borrow my second pair, Padfoot, I want to get to Tristen's Trinkets up the road."

"Hey, isn't Merdiddi's just past that house on the next street over? Our Potion Prank Supply is pretty low and I don't want to go to Apothecary General in case they tell on us again."

_**Dem Dom Doom**_

"Madame Puddifut's?!" Harry exclaimed, staring aghast at the revolting tea shop that hadn't changed a jot from now to the future. "Why—"

"Yeah, you'd think it's pathetic," James agreed with a knowing look, "And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be caught dead in there. But—"

He pushed open the door and motioned them inside with an obnoxiously superior smirk, "It's amazing what you can find in the most unlikely places."

A few couples were scattered around the room, and a couple girls were sitting alone at a table set for two, glancing impatiently at their wristwatches every few seconds.

"How are you doing this fine afternoon, Miss Fraduelancey?" Sirius said, with a gallant bow towards a pretty young girl with sleek black hair, who sat behind the counter.

"Hello, Sirius," the girl giggled, blushing furiously and raising her hand to finger her hair, as if to ensure that it was all in place. "The usual?"

"If you don't mind terribly," Sirius said with a winning smile that sent Miss Fraduelancey into another fit of giggles. She stumbled drunkenly through a door that led to a kitchen.

"So is that why we're here?" asked Ginny impatiently, "To meet Sirius's one and only fangirl?"

"Oi!" Sirius said, whirling around to face her, though James whistled appreciatively at the jibe, "I have more than just one, I'll have you know!"

"Forget it, Pads, let's show 'em just how great this places is." James said, winding a path through the tables. The seating area curved around a corner to another room that was just as, if not more, revolting as the first—the only difference being heavy satin curtains that hung along the back wall. James, grinning at Harry and Ginny, pulled back the purple swirled satin and gestured for them to look behind.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked.

"What the..."

"Welcome, my friends, to _Sir _Puddifut's place."

It was as opposite the previous room as possible—there were as many overturned card tables and chairs littering the floor as there were standing; colorful posters advertising various Quidditch teams sloppily lined the walls; blaring music from a cranked up wireless rocked shook the floorboards.

Guys, mostly in their mid- to late twenties, were loud and raucous around the room. Only a few women were milling about, but it was nonetheless more crowded than anywhere else Harry had seen that day.

"Here you are, then," said a shrill, giggling voice behind them, and Harry turned to see the same girl as before. "Four firewhiskey-butterbeer combos. Should I put it on your tab, Sirius?"

"Thanks, but no, Fraduelancey, this one's on Harry," said Sirius, smiling winningly, and Harry pretended to be reluctant in pulling out his money pouch.

"If I have to..."

A quarter of an hour later, James sighed. "I s'pose we should be getting back for Quidditch practice."

Harry drained the last of his glass—the combo drink had been delicious, especially on such a chilly afternoon—and followed James. They ducked back under the curtain, wove through the tables, and made their way back to Hogwarts.

_**Dyda Dydi Dydo-o-oooo**_

"Is that—?"

"By Merlin, I think it is!"

"What?" asked Harry, looking around the frozen James and Sirius. Someone was running laps around the Quidditch Pitch.

"Frank!" They chorused together.

"But what's he doing?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"It looks like he running laps. Couldn't imagine why, though," said James. "Let's go ask him."

They didn't need to, however, because as they neared the pitch—the team trailing behind them—Frank saw them and slowed his pace, jogging towards them. It wasn't long before Harry saw that his face was burning, and another moment to realize it was from embarrassment rather than physical exertion.

"Er, hi, guys," he said when within earshot.

"Hi, Frank," Sirius said, "What's up with you."

"Nothing," Frank mumbled, averting his gaze, "Just trying something. Don't mind me, I'm going inside now, anyway."

James and Sirius shared a bemused look, but allowed Frank to go on his way and began practice.

As practice started and James sent the team through such vigorous work outs, no one else noticed what Harry did—that about five minutes after going inside, Frank slunk out again and starting running alongside the castle, disappearing behind it and not reappearing for a good hour, by which time he looked completely exhausted and was thoroughly drenched in sweat.

_**di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di**_-

**Yay! Chapter 14 completed!! Hope that you all liked it—and that the fluff wasn't too hard to grind through...  
**

(1) This reference is in regards to the prequel written by JKRowling. If anyone has yet to read it, I know you can find it if you search on mugglenet(Dot)com . It's really good!

**IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT**__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT**__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT**__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT **IMPOR**_**TANT**__IMPOR_TANT** IMPOR**_**TANT **__IMPOR_TANT

This story has a companion piece entitled **Forging Reality: Take Two**. It is told **entirely** from Dumbledore's point of view, but follows this plot explicitly. Chapter Two is up! Hope you guys like that one too!

Thanks a ton—especially all you reviewers!! YAY!

LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU!

Rain

PS. REVIEW PLEASE!


	15. War on the Home Front

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 15**

**War on the Home Front**

**Heyo!! Wheee! I'm ba-aaaaaack!**

**Oops, it's been almost a full month... **

**I have a whole gallery of reasons, but I won't bother explaining because I suspect you all would much rather read the story than my pity party!**

**REVIEWERS!! You guys rock!! Love you all so so much!**

**Petites Sorceres: :( Your review didn't go through and I don't know why, but I could only read the first three words, and that was it. Sorry. :(**

**And on to the story!!**

War on the Home Front

The following days passed in much the same way. Harry stole a few moments with Ginny whenever he could, and Ron and Hermione also slipped away to be alone. Aside from those sparse, treasured minutes, they seemed to be perpetually surrounded by a mass of chatting and boisterous teenagers and classmates. Often with the Marauders, Harry felt as though he was continually in a bloody and very deadly war of emotions.

Common sense battled against the longing to belong and the disbelief that his parents, Sirius, Remus, and the others were there and alive, both of which waged war with the dread and despair of the darkness of the war that he knew would ravage their future...

All four Marauders—though he was loathe to admit Peter as one of them—were full to the brim with life. Laughter and temper tantrums shook their dorm until the early morning; midnight escapades (with or without Harry and Ron, to the kitchens or to Hogsmeade or elsewhere) meant extra caffeine and sugar the following morning; all but James disappeared with a date now and again. The normality, the freedom, the vibrancy weighed heavily on Harry, and oftentimes he felt as though he was suffocating beneath it.

Furthermore, Harry would not have been entirely certain that the afternoons spent out on the grounds with Lily, Michelle, Cassie, and Morganie _weren't_ stolen from heaven, if it hadn't been for the gaping feeling of emptiness he seemed to get whenever he saw his future mother.

To console himself, and to try to separate these teenagers from those who would die in just a few years time, he relived, over and over again, the memories he had with his parents, godfather, and former professor, especially those last, bittersweet and tragically horrifying moments when he had marched through the forest to Voldemort and his death. Every word, every gesture, every sad, tear-filled smile...

On an entirely different level, there was another battle that Harry fought almost daily, but this one wasn't of emotions—it was of wills.

And it was with Professor Radon.

_**Dudd-Dudd-Dududud-Dudd-Dudd-DudududududududDUD**_

Eying his tense, grumbling, and vaguely terrified classmates with a wry grin, Harry sidled into an empty seat beside Ron and Ginny, and Hermione sat not far behind with Lily and Morganie.

"Did Radon mention what he's got planned for today?" Ginny asked Harry, glancing uncertainly around the oddly bare classroom—no portraits of screaming witches or wizards, no foe glasses, no fluffy pink cardigans... Unlike each Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they had previously had, this room held no character, no clue to help identify its teacher.

The empty stone walls and blank columns somehow made the room seem considerably larger, more open—but there were plenty of strategically shadowed corners and overhangs to keep Harry on guard.

"No," Harry answered, "We never talked about—"

Out of both habit and cautious unease, he studied the room carefully, so when he caught sight of a flash of movement in one of the darker corners, he abruptly fell silent, knowing—just a mere instant, not even a full second, before it actually happened—that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

And something _was_ wrong—and much, much more immediate and dangerous than Harry had imagined.

It was the Killing Curse.

A horrifying jet of a bright, sickly green light lit up the room, and even before he knew what was happening, he had leaped to his feet, while simultaneously feeling his heart clench, his eyes widen, and his hand yank out of his pocket with his wand held tightly in it.

For one heart-stopping moment, its deadly glow spilled ominous light onto surprised and confused faces around the room, but even by the time Harry distantly realized this, he had already sprung into action.

"_Accio!"_

He was much closer to the student—the target, the victim—and so his spell hit its mark and yanked the student towards him just milliseconds before the Avada Kedavra would have made contact.

Heart pounding fiercely, Harry barely even noticed when desks and chairs scattered around the flying student as she sped towards him, now shrieking shrilly with terror. He was only aware that Ginny was bracing for impact and reaching to grab the girl, and so he leaped over a couple of desks, knocking a few over in the process, tripped, fell, and landed hard in between the attacking corner and the students.

He scrambled back to his feet in time to face a splash of painful red jets—a chorus of Cruciatuses. Harry hurled a desk in their path—the desk promptly charred and collapsed in ashes, but the Unforgivables thankfully disappeared as well.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were ranged by his side by now, shielding between the attacker and the students, and Hermione cried, "_Homenum Revelio!"_ just as another spray of spells—this time both red and green intermixed, as if it were Christmas—shot towards them.

Harry could see the attacker now, even as another desk was destroyed to block the volley—a molten red figure crouched behind the wall, and anger coursed through Harry.

How could this person burst into a classroom of unprepared students and start tossing Unforgivables like candy at a child's parade?

He forced himself to focus—wondering about motivation would do little good at the moment and would only distract him—and cast about for ideas as he threw pointless stunners at the attacker's hiding place.

An open attack would only put them in more danger, and was probably expected...

_"Defodio!" _He shouted, as sudden inspiration occurred to him, "_Protego!"_

Immediately, the wall shielding their attacker and the ceiling above him exploded in a fury of stone and dust as the gouging spell met its mark, and large chunks of demolished ceiling tumbled to the ground, but the debris bounced harmlessly off of Harry's shield.

There was a sudden hush, and the only sound was the clatter of shattered rocks against what remained of the floor and walls. The screaming, yelling, cursing—which Harry had only just tuned into—promptly quieted, and a thick, almost tangible silence filled the room.

"Now what?" Ginny asked after a long moment, her voice sounding a bit muffled by the oppressive silence, and the four of them looked at one another, at a loss.

"Where's Radon?" Hermione asked tensely, her voice closely guarded, though it held the barest hint of a waver, "He should have been here to—to face the attacker."

"Never did trust him," Ron growled through clenched teeth, kicking a desk in frustration, "Always struck me as an odd bloke."

They had let their guard down to early, Harry thought tensely with his wand still raised, and had no proof that the danger was truly over. In an attempt to take control of the situation, he raised his voice, asking with his wand still raised, "Hermione?" She glanced at him, and he swallowed painfully, surveying the room carefully. "Is there anyone else around?"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as his meaning dawned, and she waved her wand with a suddenly hardened expression. "_Homenum revelio!"_

This time, there was no answering figure of molten lava color—just the same one beneath the fallen rocks.

"Good," Harry said, satisfied, then lowered his wand and turned to face the hushed mass of students. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he called, "Everyone, clear out. Class is over." He paused, searching for a face in the crowd. "James, I want you and the other Marauders to go see Dumbledore. Tell him what happened."

"Shouldn't we wait for Radon to show up?" James asked, glancing uncertainly at the door as he fought his way to the front of the crowd. "He can't be long now."

"No," Harry said flatly, in a tone that ended any argument before it started, and James looked confused but unwilling to object, "Just get out of here."

The students quickly filed out—eager, no doubt, to get away—until it was just Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and the awkwardly lingering Marauders.

Sirius paused, hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at them.

"You guys coming?" He asked.

Harry shook his head. "Go on. Tell Dumbledore. This guy's knocked out cold," he jerked a thumb at the attacker, "But I don't want to chance him getting away."

Sirius turned fully around now, his face set into stubborn stone. "We're not leaving you alone with him—that—whatever. We'll stay with you."

Harry's jaw clenched, his rage beginning to boil, but before he could say anything, Hermione shrugged and said simply, dismissively, "Have it your way."

She started over to the rubble, but Harry grabbed her arm before she got too far. "Hermione! They can't stay—"

"There's no danger, Harry," she said reasonably, her voice quiet and earnest, albeit tired, "and I'm not going to fight with them when they obviously won't listen to reason, not to mention that every moment we spend discussing it the attacker is more likely to wake up."

Harry couldn't deny this logic—he never could, with Hermione—so he acquiesced, "Fine, stay. But I need at least one of you to go tell Dumbledore."

"Harry, they won't stand a chance against a Death Eater!" Ginny interjected. "What if there's more?"

"Fine!" Harry caved, irritated, and led the way to the collapsed corner to avoid the faces of James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

They slowly and carefully levitated the large pieces out of the way, cautious to avoid more cave in, and within fifteen minutes found the body.

"It's about time!" Sirius said, scrambling to his feet from his and James' game of exploding snap.

"You weren't even working," Ron grumbled, disgruntled, but they pretended that they hadn't heard.

"Who is it?" Peter said, his voice getting shrill with excitement. "Anyone we know?"

"It's—No!" Ginny gasped, her face going slack with shock as she stared at the body.

"What is it?" "Who?" "Ginny, who is it?"

They all clambered around her, trying to get a good look at the attacker's face, but Harry hung near the back, unwilling to have his hunch confirmed or denied.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," a thin, hoarse voice croaked, and Harry's head snapped around, "Can't you ever let me prove my point before you jump to the offensive?"

Harry pushed his way in front of the others—dumbstruck as they were, they offered little resistance as they exclaimed, "Professor Radon?!"—and stared impassively down at the mangled heap of a defense teacher.

"And what would you do," Harry asked coldly, "if someone started throwing Unforgivables right and left?

"They weren't Unforgivables!" Radon rasped weakly as he tried to explain, but his eyes were hard, intense, " Just brightly colored lights with underlining minor hexes. There wasn't... need to..."

But it was too much exertion—his eyes drifted shut, his mouth still open, and he lost consciousness.

Harry's eyes widened as he comprehended what Radon had just implied, and as he tried to make sense of it all, he swore, his hands tightening into fists.

"James and Remus, get the medic. Sirius and Peter, get Slughorn. Ask for Veritaserum, if he has any. Ron and Hermione, stay here and make sure he doesn't get away. Be careful, and feel free to stun him if you need to. Ginny, you're with me."

"Where to?"

"Dumbledore."

No one needed telling twice—they wordlessly hurtled down the hallway in their separate directions as if an army of Luna's mysterious heliopaths were after them.

Only when they reached the gargoyle did Harry realize that he didn't know the password, but McGonogall passed by within a few minutes of their frantic guessing.

"What _is _the matter?" She asked, nostrils flaring with indignation.

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore," Harry said in a rush, barely sparing her a glance, "It's important."

She crossed her arms sternly, eyes narrowing. "And _what_ could be so important that you come barging—"

"Professor Radon attacked our class, and now he's out cold," Ginny explained, her voice tight with restraint to keep from yelling.

"My word!" McGonogall gasped, looking bewilderedly from one to the other as if to beg Harry to contradict Ginny. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!" Ginny snapped, losing all patience, "So the password would be appreciated!"

"I—yes, of course. Sugar Imps," she said, trying to regain a shred of her dignity, and led the way up.

"Minerva!" Dumbledore greeted pleasantly as the door opened, "Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, how pleasant of you to drop in."

"Albus, these children claim that the Radon attacked their class," McGonogall said briskly, urgently, and Dumbledore's face immediately darkened and his twinkle disappeared. "And that he's out cold, now."

"Is that so, Mr. Potter?"

Harry quickly relayed his tale, this time making sure to add the possibility Radon had offered that the spells were fake, and when he finished, Dumbledore abruptly stood up.

"Then we shall have to go find out."

They hurried to match his brisk pace and lengthened stride, and within minutes they were back at the classroom.

"Horace! Mordecai!" Dumbledore greeted as he entered, "Good, good, you are already here. Now, where is Professor Radon?"

Sirius and James moved aside, and there, behind them, Radon's twisted-looking body lay, still partially covered by the rocks.

"He was conscious and alert for a few seconds," Hermione supplied in a quiet voice, "But he's out cold again."

"Mordecai, if you will," Dumbledore gestured, and the medic—his eyes just as cold, hard, and dull as they had been the day of the try-outs—hobbled to Radon and began checking for breathing, then a heartbeat.

An obvious expert at his work, he deftly inspected the deep gashes from which blood poured freely and the limbs bent at awkward angles... Harry had to turn his face away or else he feared he'd be sick.

"He's alive," the medic, Mordecai, growled at last, "But in a bad way. Couple days in the infirmary, at least. Too much internal damage to be fixed with a wave of a wand."

Ginny whimpered softly, and Remus hurried from the room, looking green. There was a sick, anticipatory glint in the medic's eyes that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment.

"Will Veritaserum be acceptable?"

"No," Mordecai growled without looking up at him, waving his wand to conjure a stretcher and carefully strapping Radon in, "Too many potions at work."

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had been expecting this, and said, "In that case, I will stop by in half an hour to set up the necessary protective wards. Until then, keep him unconscious and away from the students, if you please."

The medic nodded once and hobbled out the door.

Dumbledore watched his disappearing back for a long moment, then turned to Slughorn. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Horace, but it seems your service is not needed after all."

Slughorn smiled a great, toothy smile. "Ah, I've no doubt Mordecai Trockell will be asking for medicinal potions soon enough. I'd best be going, anyway—my Slug Club and I are meeting in a few hours."

Harry grimaced as soon as Slughorn left, remembering the disturbing and disastrous club, but Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

"It seems that we have a good deal to talk about," the headmaster said, smiling at them benignly. "I daresay, Mr. Potter, we certainly are spending a good deal of time together. Why, with how many hours you have already spent in my office, I would not be surprised if we became good friends before too long."

He turned to the door, humming happily, and so didn't catch the mangled expression on Harry's face.

_**DDD-DiDiDi-DeeDeeDee-DDD-DiDiDi-DeeDeeDee-DDD**_

Of course, nothing went well from there on out. The following days were unavoidably spent evading the student body as a whole whenever possible and, when forced to attend classes, pretending that the stares and whispers didn't frustrate him to the point that he almost lost control and began to tear his hair out and scream.

When Radon was cleared by both the medic and Dumbledore and resumed his classes, he and Harry were constantly at odds, only increasing the suspicions of the student body.

For once, it seemed that the Marauders also preferred private to public—no doubt, the entire situation and all that it implied left them feeling uneasy. They were caught, or so it appeared to Harry, between brooding—as was Sirius's first inclination—and forcing a facade that everything was normal—which was James's favored approach.

Nothing was normal, however, because Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron had reacted in a way that brought up, once again, their difficult past, and furthermore proved themselves _able_ to hold their own in a duel against a Death Eater. It wasn't natural for teenagers, it wasn't normal, and it didn't sit well with the Marauders.

Moreover, it further emphasized Sirius's frustration and horror and angst from a while previously—following the first Imperius Defense lesson—and gave them a glimpse of the harsh reality of the war.

However, once the awkward questions sputtered to a near halt, the suspicion from the student body was easier to bear, and life went on. A weighty Transfiguration test stole the grudging attention of many seventh years, rough Quidditch practices exhausted Harry so much that he could safely escape to the dorms and sleep rather than sit up in the common room, and James chose a new topic to tell anyone and everyone who would listen.

_**Da-da-DEE Da-da-DY Da-da-EE-I**_

"My favorite cousin," James announced brightly to Frank, Josh, and Euen, all of whom exchanged bored, tortured glances. Harry didn't blame them—everyone in Gryffindor had heard the news at least half a dozen times.

"My only cousin, actually, but still. Rachel's getting married this Saturday. October 4th, that's the one. They won't let me see her dress—they're all awfully excited—but I met the groom all the time over the summer. He's cool."

Sniggering quietly to himself, Ron joined Harry at the top of the stairs, looking out over the common room. "You'd think," he said with a laugh, "James'd realize by now that he's already told all of us."

Harry rolled his eyes in agreement, and said, "Yeah, you'd think." In truth, he was busy trying to keep his heart-rate steady as Ginny approached, climbing the last of the stairs to join them.

"Let him have his fun," she said to them as she climbed, "Besides, I think he's just trying to make up for the fact that he's not going to be at their wedding."

Harry straightened, turning his head to look at her fully, "Why not?"

"Well, he's at school, isn't he?" Ginny said, leaning against the banister beside him and frowning as if this made perfect sense, "They don't exactly let you walk out of here whenever you want to."

Harry hesitated, bewildered. "But his cousin..." As if to voice what he couldn't find words for, his arm raised of its own accord, sweeping outward to indicate some unseen explanation.

"She's getting married, yeah, we all know. We've only heard about fifty million times. But she chose to have the wedding during the school year, and I guess that's the policy. You can get out for immediate family emergencies and stuff, but not for any old reason."

But it wasn't for just any old reason, Harry thought, frowning as he thought back to Bill and Fleur's wedding a lifetime ago.

Everyone in the entire family had been there, it seemed. Loads of people on both sides of the family... It was weird to think that James's cousin Rachel would have a wedding—and, according to James, it was going to be a big affair—without her cousin, possibly even her only cousin. It was no wonder James was upset about missing it.

"He should talk to McGonagall," he said at last, "Get permission or something. He shouldn't miss it."

Harry couldn't help but think, if he had any family that was half-way decent (as opposed, obviously, to the Dursleys) he wouldn't want to miss something as important as their wedding for anything.

They were silent for a time, and Harry couldn't tell whether they agreed or disagreed. Before too long, Ginny questioned blandly, waving her hand to indicate the busy common room below, "You two joining civilization anytime soon or avoiding humanity as a whole?"

"The first," Harry answered, "We were just checking the Marauders Map and got distracted on our way back down."

"Oh? And is Mulciber still in the castle?" Ginny asked, suddenly anxious as she snapped her head around to look at them.

"Yeah," Ron said, "Still in the hospital wing, too."

Ginny shrugged, but there was a worried crease in her forehead that undermined the casual gesture. "Maybe his mission was canceled or postponed because he got sick."

"Yeah," Harry said, starting down the stairs and trying to leave behind the lingering feeling that he was forgetting something, "Maybe."

By now, James had found a new audience to bore—although, admittedly, it was a group of giggling second year girls who seemed too thrilled that he was talking to them to particularly care what he said—and Frank, Euen, and Josh were lounging comfortably by the fire, talking idly.

Presently, Frank yawned widely and stretched, pushed himself to his feet, and said regretfully but determinedly, "Sorry guys, but I've gotta go. Stuff to attend to," and with that, stalked out of the Common Room, leaving his surprised friends exchanging baffled looks one another.

Harry looked at Ron and Ginny, and their expressions reflected the bewilderment in his own. "Do you know what he's up to?"

Both shook their heads, and Ron's expression grew with anticipation.

"Come on," Ron said urged, "We've got the cloak and Map, and it's been ages since we've all sneaked out together—although you've still got to show me that Sir Puddifut's Place."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ginny, and, humoring Ron, followed him to summon Hermione on their quest.

Ron tapped Hermione on the shoulder, and as she whirled around, looking from one to the other curiously, he explained briefly.

"I don't think it really counts as sneaking out if it's not even curfew yet," Hermione said skeptically, and Harry privately agreed, but Ron waved his hand dismissively.

"It will be by the time we get back. Frank's been disappearing for long amounts of time all week, and he's almost never back before curfew."

"What's he do?"

Ron, predictably, sighed heavily and, pushing open the portrait hole and looking exasperatedly back at them over his shoulder, said, "_That _is why we're following him, Ginny. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any reason to."

Stepping out into the drafty corridors, Harry shivered a little—winter was looming ever closer, and the familiar chill that preceded it had already taken over the castle. Nonetheless, it was a relief to escape the Common Room: the stares and whispers, though exhausting, were nothing more than a mere nuisance when compared against the emotional battles he faced each moment. The Marauders' struggle to comprehend the events of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class—and, more specifically, what it meant—struck harder and considerably closer to home.

"Do you have the Map, Harry?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione and fished the Marauders Map from his pocket. Unfurling it and scanning for wandering dots, he said, "Hang on... Filch is down the corridor and to the left. Frank is—in that storage room outside McGonogall's office."

"What's he doing?" Ron asked.

Harry frowned at the map, holding it higher to allow the torches on the walls to spill light across the aged parchment.

"I think—I honestly have no idea."

"Is he pacing?" Ginny suggested, "Or is anyone else there?"

"No, he's just kind of—" odd as it sounded, Harry didn't know how else to put it, "—vibrating. It's like his dot is shaking a little, but nothing else."

"That's strange," Hermione said, peering at it over his shoulder, "I've never seen it do that.

"Could the Map be malfunctioning?" Ginny asked curiously, "Because that's just... not natural."

"He might be having a seizure—but no, we'd hear him flopping around," Hermione mused.

As the crept closer to the door, Ron hissed, "Keep it down. We don't want him to hear us."

They stopped talking, gathering quietly around the door to the storage room. To their disappointment, everything was silent—there was no sound from within the room—and no windows let them peer inside.

Ginny started, abruptly digging into her pocket. Harry, Hermione, and Ron copied her out of habit, going for their wands, but to their relief she pulled out a stringy, flesh-colored wad instead.

Grasping the Extendable Ear and pressing their heads together to catch any sound, they fiddled with the receptor end to force it under the door.

However, despite their best efforts, they caught no sound from the other side of the door, and Harry was forced to dubiously check the Marauders Map to ensure that Frank was, in fact, within the room.

They lingered uncertainly by the door, but although Harry, Hermione, and Ginny shared a defeated look, they avoided meeting Ron's gaze even as he evaded theirs.

He would make the decision on his own—it was his turn to call the shots, as it had been his choice to go out in the first place, and in any case, no one was jumping at the bit to get back to Gryffindor Tower.

At last, Ron gestured resignedly, and they followed him away. "There's no point," he admitted in an undertone, "Frank won't be done for a while, anyway."

In silence, they crossed a patch of moonlight as they followed Ron back, and as the silvery glow spilled across the parchment, Harry stopped dead, spying a wandering dot and its accompanying name.

"You go on ahead," he said suddenly, waving off their eruption of complaints, "I'll be back soon."

"We're not leaving that easily," Ginny reproached, somewhat angrily, "So tell us—where are we going?"

"I'll explain later," Harry tried half-heartedly, although he already knew they wouldn't leave him alone, so he was unsurprised when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny glued themselves to his side.

"Nice try," Ron said, "But we're coming with you unless you tell us where you're going.."

Harry sighed, but knew it was pointless to argue. "You'll have to be under the cloak the whole time," he warned, and after they gave their word—grudgingly—they followed him down two flights of stairs.

"Whoever it is had better be special," Ginny grumbled some time later, shivering in the cool air, "Because so far this is a complete waste of time. Are we almost there?"

"You can go back if you want to," Harry offered, not even bothering to disguise the hope in his voice, "Or, better yet, we'll all just go back upstairs and forget this happened—"

Harry backed off immediately as three scathing looks turned his way. It wasn't that he didn't want his friends to know what he was trying to do, just that, at this point, it was such an abstract, far-off goal that he would prefer to know it had some chance of success before he told anyone.

As they walked in silence for a time, he turned his attention to the map again and, as they neared a corner, said in a lowered voice, "Get under the Cloak—he's just up ahead."

They sullenly did so, making it clear that they were unhappy to be staying out of sight, but it was with a note of climbing expectation.

Harry rounded the corner and found himself face to face with the greasy, black haired object of his query.

"Potter!" Snape snarled, instantaneously diving for his wand, and it was all Harry could do to keep himself from doing likewise—but he kept his hand in his pocket all the same.

"We've been over this," Harry said, meeting Snape's angry gaze as strongly as he could, "I'm not James."

Snape's eyes widened again, but unlike their previous encounter after the disastrous Quidditch try outs, he proceeded—with evident difficulty—to lower his wand.

They were at a standstill—both were weighing their words before speaking, determined not to give the other any sort of advantage. Harry knew that if he screwed this up, it might alienate him from the teen forever, and his goal would come to nothing.

In the end, it was Snape who broke the silence.

"So the philosopher returns," Snape said silkily, an underlying warning masked in his voice. "What foolish babbling will he spew today?"

"We've already agreed that I'm a fool," Harry said before he could stop himself, "And since I obviously don't care, you probably want to get a little more creative."

"Brash," Snape remarked appraisingly, as if he was speaking to himself, "quick-tempered, immature... It seems that I gave you too much credit. You're no better than your fellow _lions."_

_Lions _was said with such a scathing tone that it was all Harry could do to keep from rolling his eyes—the teenage Severus Snape sounded very much like his bitter adult self.

This realization, however, only stiffened his resolve.

Having only come to understand Snape after the ex-Death Eater's death, Harry never had a chance to thank him. Now, faced as he was with a biting, resentful teenage Snape, he had a chance to be something to him other than a constant reminder of both Snape's worst enemy and hardest loss. Whether Snape needed a non-Death Eater friend, encouragement, a tutor, or just a puzzle to think about, Harry was going to take advantage of the time in the past.

And, if nothing else, it got him away from the Marauders for a while.

"Still judgmental," Harry commented blandly, mocking Snape's appraising tone, "Still arrogant... If it's all the same to you, I'd like to skip past the name-calling stage."

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry hesitated.

"Pixie got your tongue? No more wise words to bore the world with?"

He grit his teeth and ground out what he'd sworn to himself he'd say, "I wanted to congratulate you."

Snape's composure slipped in surprise for just the barest of moments, and Harry continued, heartened.

"That was impressive, what you did in Imperius Defense class."

The words left a strange, bitter taste in his mouth, but Harry didn't regret saying them—he was way beyond feeling self-conscious in front a man whose strongest and weakest moments had been laid bare before him.

Snape's response to his praise, however, confused him. Instead of nodding curtly or biting off some vituperative remark, as his adult self would have done, his face, already so closely guarded, hardened to stone.

"Skill is skill," the teen said darkly, "and determination is determination. Just because I did well doesn't mean I resorted to the Dark Arts."

Harry blinked. Snape thought he was _accusing _him?

"That wasn't what I—" he began hastily, then abruptly changed courses, "I never said it was. I never thought it was. I honestly meant to congratulate you."

Snape let an exasperated hiss escape through tightly clenched teeth, but Harry cut him off. He was aware of, but disregarding, his no doubt thoroughly shocked but invisible audience.

"It takes real strength to fight the Imperius—I know that better than most. That you did it is good for you and the class. They need proof that it's hard, but not impossible."

Snape was staring at him strangely, as if he'd never seen him before, and then the teenager said bitingly, distantly, as if Harry hadn't spoken at all, "Sappy... Nervous... Doesn't know what he's talking about... It's worse than I thought."

An odd feeling rose in Harry's chest, a bubbling sensation that wasn't the frustration he'd expected—it was laughter.

And then it rang in the halls, and Harry left a weirded-out teenager behind as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his three fellow time travelers trailing bemusedly behind.

_**Diddili-um Did-dum Dum-di-Dum DOOOOM**_

After a particularly strenuous Quidditch practice, some few days later, Harry, Ron, Ginny, James, and Sirius trudged back up to the common room and collapsed, exhausted, into the armchairs beside the fire. Hermione, Remus, Peter, Lily, Morganie, and Michelle lounged around them, in deep conversation with parchment spread across their laps, haphazard stacks on the tables, and in crumpled up wads littering the floor.

"As a girl," Lily said aloud slowly, as if dictating to herself as she wrote furiously on one of the many pieces of parchment, "I'm supposed to adore shopping, make-up, and boys."

"Good one," Michelle said, starting to scribble as well.

"How about, _As a teenager, I'm supposed to be rebellious, arrogant, and think I'm smarter than my parents," _Remus suggested, dipping his quill into ink and also starting to scratch away at his paper.

"Ooh, I like that one too," Michelle gushed, writing again.

"Michelle!" Lily chastised, her hand freezing in the act of writing, "Are you just going to copy everyone else's?"

"They all have better ideas than I do," Michelle whined, and Lily sighed exasperatedly.

Harry let his curiousity get the better of him. "What are you guys doing?"

"Radon's Imperius essay," Remus answered, looking up from his parchment and settling further into the plushy armchair. "It's a lot easier than the others he's had us do, but it still takes a while."

Ginny stilled abruptly in the act of examining a nasty-looking bruise from a bludger, looking stricken. "Oh, no! I haven't done that yet."

She tore up the steps to the girls dormitory, reappeared moments later with her book bag, pounced onto the sofa next to Lily and Morganie, and, pulling out some parchment and quills, asked, "So what do we have to do again?"

"Stereotype yourself," Lily said, sounding amused at her enthusiasm. "Bullet-point format, at least thirty."

Ginny sighed in relief and began scribbling in a way that was almost savage. "That's easy. As a girl, I should be weak. I'm young, I should be naïve..."

After rattling off a few more, she ran out of steam and paused for a moment, chewing on the end of her quill like she was in deep thought, "As a practical joker, I should not take life seriously."

"As a teenage boy," Peter chimed in, "I should be obsessed with Quidditch."

Lily said, "I don't want a boyfriend, so I must not like guys."

"I like reading," Remus said, "So I must be a loner."

"As a nerd," Morganie said, "I should have no sense of humor."

Lily looked up suddenly, shocked and appalled. "Morganie!" She exclaimed, "You're not a nerd!"

"I am, too," Morganie said stubbornly, "And I'm proud of it."

"Okay, how's this: Because I sometimes dress strangely, I must be looking for attention," Michelle said, sounding pleased with herself.

"Sounds good. I love shopping, so I should be rich," Morganie said.

The musing and collaboration went on for a while, and Harry had tuned it out, engaging in a conversation with Ron, James, and Sirius. However, one last stereotype broke into his concentration, and he abruptly stilled.

"As a muggleborn," Hermione had said, "I should be worse than purebloods."

Somehow, her quiet words, merely murmured aloud as she neatly printed her essay, sank in around the group, stilling further conversation and work.

"Aw, don't say that, Hermione," Sirius said after a long pause, hovering awkwardly in a position that was both half-standing, half-sitting, as if he'd frozen in the act of rising to his feet, "You're killing the mood. Let's talk about rainbows and fluffy bunnies instead."

He said it so earnestly and seriously and with such a straight face that they all laughed, and the friendly ambiance resumed, free from reminders of the war, and Harry, unable to restrain himself, said, "As a Potter... I should be a conceited, big-headed arrogant prat."

And amidst the laughter, James stared at him, betrayed and speechless.

_**Ta-da!**_

_**So... what do YOU think might cause a dot on the Marauders Map to vibrate? What IS Frank up to? What's going through Snape's mind right now? Will James go to his cousin's wedding? Why won't this stupid author shut up and start writing the next one already?**_

_**Let me know what you think in a review, please please please!!**_


	16. Dealing in Lies

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 16**

**Dealing in Lies**

**Woo-hoo! Another chapter up!**

**So, I was having a ton of trouble writing the chapter (it just seemed so BORING--don't worry, I don't think it is anymore) so I gave up on answering reviews as they came, and instead just have responses to the last bunch here--but don't think I don't love you all, cuz I do!**

**blackrhino:** yay! thanks so much, and I'm sorry to say I didn't quite manage "soon" **Lightest'Ink: **THANKS! **Nosi: **I literally squealed when I read your review, it made me so happy! Thanks soooooooooooo much! About a Take 3... not any time soon, that's all I can say. School and sports are about all I can handle at the moment, and two stories are more than enough to take up my free time **Christina Angel: **both are very good ideas! I won't say how close to the truth they are, but you'll find out at the end of the chapter. And I'm glad you like the bit about Snape (it was really hard, but fun, to write) and the stereotypes (they were a bit of a last minute addition) **ellesra: **more good ideas! (though you did seem to give Snape a bit of an inferiority complex when you were talking about how Snape thought Harry was too "normal" and "brilliant" to be friends with someone like him!) **lilyre: **yes, Frank is up to something! glad you liked the "fluffy bunnies" line! **krateee: **love the idea--added it--THANKS! **petites sorcieres: **well, to put it frankly, Morganie's not all that creative- her mind tends to be more analytical than imaginative, so I thought it fitting that, for the most part, she doesn't come up with creative, good stereotypes. Oh well, to each his own. Glad you liked Snape- it took me forever to get the interaction with him right. About the cousin... Shh! No one's s'posed to know that yet! ;) And good ideas, they made me laugh! **Dragon Geek: **thank you! **Ladeia3: **thank you! **Ali-chan et Vani-chan: **thanks! **charmedtomeetyou: **don't worry, I have no intention whatsoever of abandoning this! **Esodes08: **I have no idea what happened either, but maybe all the reformatting deleted it--anyway, I re-put up chapter 5, and thanks for letting me know! Glad you like it! **siriuslysirius: **no idea about chapter 5, but its back up now! thank you so much! **Sylkie: **yay! thank you! So glad you liked it! And yes, I will indirectly show the other professors' reactions to the duel, in the way that they tell DD, but I won't show anything completely from their POV **aimael: **ooh, nice theory, I like it! whether or not it's true... you'll find out at the end of the chapter. You don't think James's going to the wedding will affect the story? Really? Wait and see-eeee... ;) Thank you thank you thank you!

**And now that that's done...**

**Some many awesome theories! And I was surprised that so many people thought it was the imperius... Actually, the "real" reason was boring, so I changed it after reading a few more creative theories... funny how that worked out! Kudos to fufu.a.k. because it was your idea I chose and worked with! You will find out the NEW reason at the end of the chapter... and it will open up NEW questions, too!  
**

**And I loved Krateee's idea so much that I added it--Harry now makes a funny comment at the end of chapter 15  
**

**I finally managed to get the plot moving somewhat, but I really didn't like the chapter, so I threw in a last-minute prank for good measure... -shrugs- I don't know, it wasn't the most creative prank, but the chapter is definitely better now.**

**ENJOY!**

"James Potter?" Professor Flitwik called cheerily without looking up, his eyes roving over the parchment with the role call.

He paused, waiting for an answer, but when only silence met his question, he hoisted himself up on top of his desk to better survey the room, calling perplexedly once again, "James Potter?"

When it became evident that James was not in class, Flitwik lowered himself back to his haphazard stack of heavy books, frowning good-naturedly. "Certainly wouldn't be the first time Potter thought he had better things to do than show up around here, nor do I suppose this will be the last. I'm just surprised he didn't take you merry band of cohorts with him," he said with a pointed look at Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

When the present Marauders only continued to look baffled at their friend's absence, however, Flitwik sighed. "Not even a unique, far-fetched, and utterly entertaining excuse? Ah, I guess detention it is, then."

He paused, and Harry could have sworn he saw Sirius elbow Peter in the ribs—an observation that was confirmed when Peter leaped to his feet as if scalded by a hot iron, saying, "Oh! I forgot I was supposed to tell you, sir, that as we were walking innocently through the hallways, just minding our own business, these great big, burly—"

Professor Flitwik cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No, no, none of that nonsense," he said, smiling as if enjoying a great joke, "You've missed your chance. As Mr. Potter hasn't shown, then we can only assume that he has every intention of skipping my class.

"Miss Quentin?"

A small, pixie-like Ravenclaw raised her hand and said, "Here," and Professor Flitwik continued calling role, but Harry let his thoughts drift.

Flitwik was in many ways the same as Harry remembered him from his own time—same small frame and good-natured attitude—but at the same time much more different than Harry had previously noticed.

Although the tiny professor always was as pleasant as ever, the Flitwik of his schooling in his own time never struck Harry as having such a prominent sense of humor and mischief as he did in the previous exchange, or now that he properly thought of it, as he had had in the entire month in 1977.

Harry had known—had completely expected—that many of the people he met in this jaunt to the past would be considerably different from their counterparts in the future, but for whatever reason he couldn't wrap his mind around the change in the tiny professor. It was as if, because the changes were so subtle, he saw both past and future as one and the same, so when discrepancies arose they were hard to understand. It was almost easier with people like Sirius, Remus, James, Snape—people who would drastically change over the next two decades.

Harry was violently startled from his thoughts by a crashing _bang! _of the classroom door and a ringing shout:

"SHE SAID YES!"

Leaning heavily against the door frame, panting and clutching his chest as if he'd just run a long way, but wearing an exuberant grin, was James Potter.

"She said YES!"

Immediately catching both his meaning and his enthusiasm—unlike the still startled rest of the class—Sirius leaped to his feet and punched the air. "I knew she'd cave! Congrats, Prongs!"

Together, they started in a victory dance that involved an odd combination of running in circles and jumping up and down. Before long, Remus and Peter, catching on to the festivity of the occasion, joined eagerly.

Eager for any excuse to escape schoolwork, the rest of the class followed in the celebration, some more enthusiastically than others. Cassie and a Ravenclaw friend of hers laughingly joined into the dancing, with equal lack of grace as the Marauders. A dark-haired Ravenclaw called, "Congratul-ay-shuns!" and Harry couldn't help but snicker at the strange way he accentuated parts of the word. Lily, Michelle, and Morganie just rolled their eyes and seized the lesson-free opportunity to talk amongst themselves.

Professor Flitwik seemed to be struggling to hide his smile—trying to appear stern and reign in the class—and made only half-hearted attempts to calm the ruckus, at the head of which was, of course, James Potter and Sirius Black. Underneath the excitement, however, there was an undercurrent of confusion, laced with skeptical whispers and odd looks shot at Lily—but it was hardly noticeable when the Marauders were so enthusiastically loud and a good number of the class was filling the silence with catcalls and hollers.

"I don't believe it!" Remus exclaimed, whooping over the clamor and high-fiving James.

"That's so cool!" Peter shouted, celebrating from atop his desk.

"Attention, please," Professor Flitwik called, but he lacked enthusiasm, even as he rapped sharply on his desk, "Class is still in session!"

"Wicked!" yelled an unfamiliar voice in the crowd, brushing off the reprimand as if Flitwik hadn't spoken at all.

"Awesome!"

"It's about time!"

"It's your lucky day!"

"Yeah, mate!" Sirius clapped James on the shoulder so hard he stumbled and had to grab the desk to keep from falling. Sirius teased, "Maybe even stone-hearted Lily Evans will say yes to you today!"

Despite Sirius's intention—for his friend's embarrassment in front of the entire class—James took his words at face value and only looked hopeful, eying the redhead with an excited spark in his eyes.

The students who had been celebrating, however, halted in their clamor, falling into a bewildered silence with hushed, confused whispers.

"But..." whispered Peter, before trailing off into silence.

Lily and her friends obliviously continued their conversation, but when they noticed that the room had gotten quiet, they looked up and saw James watch them excitedly.

"Not a chance," Lily stated flatly, guessing his motives and taking advantage of the lull in noise, "So don't even bother."

"B-but—" stammered Peter, still frozen in the act of his victory dance on the desktop and swiveling his head confusedly from James to Lily, as many other spectators were doing, "But I thought—"

But Remus cut quietly, albeit firmly, across Peter, replacing his question with his own as he caught some hidden clue, and the rat stopped abruptly at his voice, "Who said yes, Prongs?"

His question raised a few eyebrows around the room, as people guessed his meaning, and Sirius snorted at their slow uptake.

"Why, McGonogall of course," James said, frowning at their confusion, and promptly realization dawned. "What, you thought Lily did? I _wish_, but I haven't even dared to ask her in who knows how long..."

There was a heavy silence, as most of the class who had been paying attention had expected a revelation considerably more earth-shaking, given James's exuberance, until Remus said—his voice somewhat strained— "So you get to go to your cousin's wedding? That's brilliant! When d'you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, bright and early! Well, early for a Saturday, anyway," he shrugged, grinning, "Wedding's at three, party's not long after, and I'm back by Sunday afternoon!"

It was then that Professor Flitwik took advantage of the relative quiet, calling the class to order, and began his lecture about protective charms; as he did so, none paid closer attention than Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron.

_**Diddili-oomp-diddili-ump-diddili-doo-i-dump**_

In honor of James's success, they wasted no time in pulling together a celebratory prank. It was rash and ill-planned, but it nonetheless left their audience in hysterics.

_**Diddili-doop!**_

"LADIES AND GENLTEMAN!" James roared, illuminated in the darkness of the Great Hall by the florescent beams from Remus's wand, his voice greatly magnified by the_ Sonorus _charm, "GIRLS AND BOYS! TEACHERS AND STUDENTS! GHOSTS AND POLTERGEISTS—UH, POLTERGEIST, I MEAN!"

A few of the younger girls, and a couple boys who sounded like girls, had shrieked when the lights had first gone out, but as soon as the bright spotlights had started twirling, most people had sat back and waited with great anticipation for the prank. Severus Snape and most of the Slytherins, however, were greatly on edge and had their wands out, scanning the darkness avidly and trying to head off any spells before they could reach them.

"IT IS MY GREAT HONOR," James' grin, manic as it was, only heightened the expectation such that it was nearing tangibility, "TO PRESENT TO YOU HOGWARTS' FIRST INTERPRATIVE DRAMA—TITELD WHAT REALLY GOES ON IN THE STAFF ROOM!!!"

That was the cue for Remus to trigger the stage lighting, harsh and blinding, and a Professor McGonagall look-alike, the product of a stolen quantity of the last of Slughorn's Polyjuice Potion, to step out onto the lip of the elevated area where the teachers were sitting.

"JAMES POTTER!" She screeched furiously, "I never—in all my years at Hogwarts—I've never had such an ideal person to suck the fun out of everything they do! My pride and joy is and always will be to foil your every plot, and when I fail, to put you in so many detentions you'll have to spend the rest of your life here at Hogwarts in order to do them!"

In the middle of her rant, look-alike Flitwick joined her one the stage, beaming ridiculously widely. "Oh, dear, darling Minerva! Turn that frown upside-down! Today is a happy day—go on, smile!" He giggled delightedly, clapping his hands with glee before assuring her, "You can pretend to be mad at invisible James later, at your session with What's-Her-Toes, you know, that St. Mungo's lady with the big buggy eyes."

A spotlight swivled to shine on a phony Professor Vector, the young Arithmancy professor, as she climbed the steps to stand by them. "Dear me," she stated flatly, sounding utterly bored, "I think she might need a double or triple session with her psychiatrist today. After all, negative _b_ plus-minus the product of _a_ squared times _c _squared, minus four times _b _times _c_, all over negative three times _a_, signifies that—"

"BUT I'M NOT CRAZY!!" Bogus McGonogall cut her of with a crazed shriek, "I'M NOT PSYCHO! IT'S THOSE—THOSE AWFUL MARAUDERS! THEY SET ME UP, I SWEAR THEY DID!"

"Now, now, Minnie," counterfeit Flitwik coaxed, undaunted by her all-encompassing fury and wagging a stubby little finger in her face, "We mustn't bad-talk such wondrous men as them! That's a no-no. They're too smart, and cool, and popular, and, it cannot be denied," he spared a quick giggle, "utterly and completely _handsome!" _

"Ooh, that is so true," imitation Vector commented blandly, tonelessly, as she studied her nails without looking up, "Their genetic phenotype is irrefutably most attractive and alluring and, dare I say it, sexy."

She was cut off by a hoarse shout, followed by a stream of curses as a fake Professor Radon hobbled onto the stage. "Bloody Potter kid nearly took my leg off! I swear, one of these days I'll actually defeat him in a duel, I will!"

"Ray-Ray!" faux McGonogall squealed happily like a first year girl, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around the grizzled man's neck, cares forgotten, "You made it! Oh, I had such a long, hard day, what with these two on my case about being psycho, but it's all better now that you're here!"

The false Radon roughly tossed pushed her away, with such force that she flew a few meters away and skidded haltingly across the marble floor on her bottom.

"Now, Ray-Ray," she admonished, shaking her finger regally in his direction, "Is that any way to treat your girlfriend?"

"Dunno," he growled at her, "I've never had one. But if I ever do get one, I'll let you know."

"HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT TO ME?!?!" the forged McGonogall wailed.

But then an impostor Mandlebrook skipped merrily across the stage, humming under her breath. "The kids bowed down to me today!" She announced brightly, "They know that I'm the best thing since pumpkin pie, and they just _love _me, even if I have no idea what I'm talking about and have no sense of pride and don't even know what humor is. And I think that _Love You Like a Troll_ is a stupid song. AHHH! A BUG! EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

And she sprinted off stage, and the curtain fell amidst raucous applause and hysterical laughter, and the Gryffindor common room shook with laughter and partying until the early hours of the morning.

_**Dummi-Dummi-Dummi-DOOM**_

Sunlight streamed in from gaps in the tress overhead, glistening on the dew drops that accentuated the leaves and bushes around them.

It was mid afternoon, Harry breathed deeply, appreciating the fresh, woodsy air and soft quiet of the Forbidden Forest.

Ginny strolled lackadaisically beside him, idly tossing a quaffle from hand to hand.

Presently, growing bored with her game, she hurled the ball directly upwards and high over their heads, following it avidly with her eyes. It tore past the trees' grappling branches before hanging for a brief moment, suspended from gravity, and tumbling back down to earth and landing in Ginny's outstretched hands.

"It's bizarre, isn't it?" She murmured at last, nudging aside a bush with the toe of her boot and staring out at the bushes and tree trunks, "That the Forbidden Forest looks so pretty, so harmless? If you didn't already know, you'd never guess what dangerous creatures live in here."

For a long moment, Harry didn't answer. Throughout the duration of their walk—which had, admittedly, not been very long—starting when Harry had found Ginny wandering aimlessly, she had been making similarly random, pointless comments. They were no doubt connected to whatever was running through her mind that had her so distracted, if only in the respect that they were something to consider so as to keep her mind elsewhere.

"Maybe," he grunted noncommittally, glancing up at her and seeing, for what felt like the millionth time, the same expression of isolation in her eyes, "But not if you look too close or think to hard."

He pointed out a large black spider—no doubt one of Hagrid's growing nest—that scuttled in the distance, and Ginny sighed heavily.

Another lengthy pause.

"Has James left yet?" she asked quietly, with a note of tension in her voice that told Harry they were nearing what she most wanted to discuss.

He nodded.

"An hour ago. Have you—been out here the whole time?"

"Yes," she whispered, and her voice was nearly lost in the breeze that rustled the bushes and brambles. She hesitated before saying tentatively, more a question than a statement, "Pettigrew said that he didn't think James should go. Something about how he felt like it was a bad idea, that something bad would happen."

Harry didn't respond for a long moment, eying instead the golden leaves that contrasted against the endless blue expanse above.

Ginny's words were careful, measured, and unbelievably strained, as if she had tried, and maybe still was trying, to convince herself that this conversation needn't be held, but she had failed. Was this truly what had her so worked up? It was unreal.

"He seemed concerned," Ginny prodded, her voice still so tight it seemed distorted.

She needed an answer, Harry realized, but he couldn't fathom what to say when he didn't even know what the question was.

"Pettigrew," Harry said finally, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "is a coward. Though what he's afraid of this time, I have no idea."

Ginny blew air threw her lips, tormented with some plaguing thought that he couldn't understand. "But it's—but he never has any sort of opinion, only what other people say!" she said, beginning to border on hysterical, "So why would he say anything that he knows James wouldn't want to hear—that no one wants to hear?"

"Who knows?" He kicked a bush, turning his face away from Ginny's. "Who cares? A feeling doesn't change anything."

Ginny silence was enough to tell him that she remained unconvinced, and Harry demanded, "What, do you think he's a seer, or something?"

"No," she whispered, "it's just—he looked like he really cared..."

"He probably did," Harry growled roughly, "James is the traitor's friend, his bodyguard... Unless you think he's already turned to Voldemort?"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

Harry grunted noncommittally.

It was hard to imagine, not that Voldemort's followers might be at Hogwarts, but that the dark lord would have any use for them. Harry knew that anyone at the school rarely learned anything about the goings-on of the world except through the Daily Prophet and family members outside the grounds, so information gathering was a highly doubtful prospect.

Any Death Eater purposefully planted at Hogwarts had to have some sort of mission, or else it wasn't worth the trouble to put them their, let alone to confide your plans in. There had _always _been a purpose—guiding Harry through the Tri-Wizard Tournament, getting information from Dumbledore, _killing_ Dumbledore, instilling anti-muggle and anti-blood-traitor values in the kids, and so on.

So what would be the point in having a pathetic, cowardly, thick-skulled rat like Pettigrew in the Gryffindor dorms? Why would any dark lord—or the followers of a dark lord—want his support? Especially when the traitor's closest friends were not yet of any importance or threat?

Why would they have bothered to already convince, threaten, or blackmail him to their side? Why wouldn't he still be under the illusion that he could avoid the conflict, unnoticed and unimportant?

Why would he know even a hint of their plans?

Secondly, but no less convincing, were the facts of that dreadful Halloween night that had cost Harry's parents their lives: Pettigrew had been relaying information to Voldemort for about a _year _previously—not four years.

Could the pathetic, scared Pettigrew keep such a secret for so long without ever being entirely found out?

"Harry! Ginny!"

They spun around at the sound of Hermione's shout, wands out in a flash, but quickly ascertained from the expression on her face that there was no immediate danger, despite the fact that she was running hard towards them.

"Room of Requirement..." she choked out through her breathlessness, slowing to a jog, "Ron found... more books on time travel... reckons he might... have something... this time."

With one last, tortured scowl into the the depths of the Forbidden Forest, Ginny turned towards school with a hurried pace, leaving Harry and Hermione to run in her wake.

_**Dee-Dee-Deeyo-iyo-deeyo-diyo**_

Studiously eying Ginny's hardened look while they hastened to the Room of Requirement, Hermione's expression mingled concern and confusion. Harry, hoping to avoid a confrontation of any sort (at least until he understood precisely why Ginny was so worked up) sped on the fiery redhead's heals the whole way, refusing to fall behind and give his bookish friend the opportunity to take him aside and question him.

The three of them burst into the Room of Requirement as one, the instant the door appeared before them, and looked to Ron expectantly.

The Room of Requirement had adapted the familiar surroundings of the Gryffindor common room: a warmly crackling fire, plush couches and cozy armchairs, regal red and gold hangings....

Ron, for his part, immediately leaped to his feet out of a comfy-looking armchair as if scalded, seizing a stack of weighty texts and rummaging through them with anxious fervor, as if to appear as though he had been working the entire time.

"I was, uh, just, erm—"

"Ron!" Hermione briskly marched up to him and swatted him over the head, tugging the books from his hands. "You were lounging the whole time, weren't you? Weren't you?"

"Give it up, Hermione," Ginny rebuked, laughing, "He'll never change, so you may as well get used to it."

Though she held her scowl for a few seconds more, a half-smile then twitched across Hermione's lips, giving her away. Reluctantly, she handed them back to Ron, who accepted them and, ears burning, said sheepishly, "Yeah, well... I did find the books, though. That's gotta count for something."

Hermione rolled her eyes, lips still threatening to break into a full-out smile, and studied with a well-trained eye the numerous volumes that haphazardly littered the table.

Eyebrows raised, she read a few of the titles aloud. "'_A Guide to Wand-Magic'? _'_Your Magical Core'_? _'Merlin's Theory of Magic'?_" She turned her gaze to Ron, skeptical. "What does any of this have to do with time travel?"

Although Harry was strongly inclined to agree, he opted to bite his tongue instead as Ron took a deep breath—his face was rather green, and Harry recognized the tell-tale signs of his nervousness (perhaps he feared Hermione would think him stupid after hearing his idea)—and said, "Hold your hippogriffs, Hermione! Give me a chance to explain...."

Harry couldn't help but marvel, even as he settled into one of the plush armchairs, at the absurdity of Ron lecturing Hermione, rather than the other way around—particularly when the subject was on patience or books.

"So I was doing Flitwik's essay, alright? About accidental magic and how to create spells."

He paused, and they nodded, having been assigned the same essay. Hermione, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, seemed about to burst with pride, but wisely held her tongue.

Ron took another deep breath, and as he began to explain, he turned his eyes to his trainers and studied them intently.

"So I was looking stuff up, and things got kinda interesting. A book mentioned Merlin's theory or magic, and when I looked it up, it was so complicated I couldn't understand a word."

Unable to resist, Ginny snorted. "That's not all that surprising, Ron."

He flushed a spectacular scarlet hue, but was evidently the slight on his intelligence was of little enough importance that he continued to explain rather than retaliate. He did, however, start to speak faster, rushing the words as if on a deadline—Harry got the impression that his redheaded friend was wishing the explanation was already over and done with.

As he mulled this over, Harry reached the conclusion that Ron was anxious enough to get home that he was willing to present the theory, in case it actually helped, but he had such little faith in the idea—or himself—that he expected his audience to think it was ridiculous.

"Er, anyway, to make a long story short, I found a bunch of other books on theory, and started combing through it. Here's what I've got so far..."

Rummaging on the table once again, he picked up a rumpled bit of spare parchment, decorated up one side and down the other with his scribbles and notes. He smoothed it out.

"Ages ago, back before people started writing stuff down and inventing wands and stuff, nobody knew anything about magic. There were some witches and wizards, but all they could ever do was accidental magic, because nobody had made up spells yet."

Hermione shifted her wait and crossed her legs, than uncrossed them. Harry could only assume that she knew this and more, and was itching to take up the lecture.

Ron, never raising his eyes from his tousled parchment, continued. "Eventually, a couple of them figured out that they could have some control over it and started to practice magic, but still didn't have wands or spells. Even so, they could do impressive stuff—their enemy would get really sick, their friends would strike it rich, whatever."

Hermione opened her mouth eagerly, but abruptly closed it again with a sharp _snap!, _probably reminding herself once again that this was Ron's big revelation. Ginny started tapping her foot, looking impatient.

"It wasn't until much later that people used wands to help their magic, but when they did, that made it much more effective, obviously, and then saying spells helped too, once they figured _that _part out."

"So by now," Ron said, "There are three different types of magic, and the last two are usually combined to create the spells we use. The first type is accidental magic, where strong emotions trigger the magic and something big happens. Easy enough."

"Like when I blew up Aunt Marge," Harry volunteered, and Ron snickered but nodded, looking up at them for the first time.

"Exactly. The second type is focus magic, which is what they used way back when. You focus really hard on what you want to happen, and the magic does the rest. This is obviously a lot harder to control."

Harry didn't comment aloud on this branch, but his head was spinning with similar occasions. He recalled, distantly, the young Tom Riddle's comment, "_I can make them hurt if I want to." _ He remembered when he himself was young and on the run from Dudley's gang—remembered when he'd jumped into the air and found himself atop the school building.

He nodded.

"Last," said Ron, "is incantation magic, and with that, all you have to do is say the incantation and wave your wand, and it triggers the magic. It's kinda like the Half-Blood Prince's spells—you didn't have to know what it did or think about it at all, it just happened.

"Most spells combine incantation and focus magic—you wave your wand and say an incantation, but you also have to focus on what you're doing. That's because they haven't found the right incantation that does the magic without thought, but the incantations they do have make it easier than just plain old focusing. And, of course, accidental magic is way too unreliable."

Hermione nodded eagerly and Ron seemed heartened. Harry met Ginny's eyes and saw the same bewilderment reflected in them—although Ron's explanations were easy enough to follow, neither of them could see where any of this was going.

"And the incantations are in Latin, right?" asked Ginny, clarifying, and Harry got the distinct impression that she just wanted to contribute, in some way, to the conversation. "The ancient, magical language?"

"Sometimes," Hermione burst out zealously before Ron could, unable to restrain herself any longer—Harry was just impressed that she had lasted this long—"But there isn't any realistic support to say that Latin is the language of magic like some people have said.

"For example, the Unforgiveables are obviously mostly focus spells, because they won't work unless you truly mean it, but _avada kedavra_ is actually Aramaic—which is a language closely related to Hebrew—for '_may the thing be destroyed'_."

Ron shrugged, looking so explicitly relieved to have her _not_ criticizing or tearing apart his explanation that Harry doubted he'd even really heard her.

"If you say so, Hermione. Anyway, this theory of performing a spell just by focusing, and maybe using a made-up incantation that somehow ties in with what you want to make it easier, started getting me thinking that maybe we could get home the same way. That we could make up our own spells, and travel back to our own time."

There was a long, pregnant pause, during which everyone stared at Ron in astonishment and he shifted uncomfortably under their gazes.

"Well, _I _thought it was a good idea," he muttered.

And suddenly everyone was talking at once.

_**Daoi-dhgpaio-dgnweion-doignewrin-dfvniweiofn**_

Though they spent ages scouring the many books, they found very little besides what Ron had told them, and Hermione was the only one who had yet to run out of steam when they called it quits for the night.

They found the Marauders—minus James—in the common room, faces going red with concentration as they glared at one another, not one of them moving or talking.

"What are you _doing?" _Ron demanded, staring at them, and understandably so, as though they'd lost their minds.

"Well," growled Sirius irritably, breaking eye contact with the others, "We _were—"_

"Breath-holding contest," Peter piped up enthusiastically, grinning widely, "Sirius usually wins, but I won the last one."

"Only because you got so dizzy you fell on top of me!" Sirius yelped, sounding stung, and Peter looked moderately abashed.

"Yeah, well..."

"Did I hear right?" Frank called from a nearby armchair, stopping mid-conversation with Josh and Euen, "Breath-holding contest? Can I join?"

The Marauders shared an uncertain glance before Remus said, "Uh, sure, come on over."

Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron watched amusedly as, on the count of three, they all drew deep breaths and puffed out their cheeks. The seconds ticked by until Peter gave out first with a defeated gasp for breath, then Remus, then Sirius with a swear word that had Hermione tutting disapprovingly, until Frank was the only one still holding his breath.

"But I never lose!" Sirius said, pretending to be outraged, "You must be cheating!"

But Frank just shook his head, his face turning colors with lack of oxygen and swaying slightly.

"You've won, Frank," Remus coaxed, sounding confused and a little worried, "You can breathe now."

And then Frank crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

_**Daioe Daoin Daioh Deehi**_

"He held his breath until he passed out?" The medic growled disbelievingly, and they nodded a bit sheepishly. "Good grief, I figured I'd seen the last of this when my sister's kids finished primary school. Alright, bang him on that there bed and I'll have him good as new in a jiffy."

A couple quick spells and a lengthy lecture about stupidity later, the Marauders, the time travelers, and Frank were on their way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

Sirius, predictably, seemed to find the whole event extremely amusing.

"Oh, merlin, I can't believe that happened!" He chortled, "Now isn't that a story to tell: this one time, I held my breath, and I woke up in the hospital wing."

He cracked up, and Peter laughed shrilly beside him.

"I've gotta admit," Remus said seriously, clapping Frank on the back, "I'm impressed that you were that determined. I know _I_ gave up as soon as I started seeing stars."

Frank, strangely enough, seemed encouraged by this observation, as if Remus had given him a great compliment.

As he processed what this meant, Harry stopped dead.

He noticed, distantly, that their crowd had stopped when he did and was looking at him curiously, but he had eyes only for Frank.

"You didn't," he said flatly, "Please tell me you didn't."

Frank frowned, confused. "Yeah, I did see stars, but why does that—"

"The running around the Quidditch pitch and the castle?" Harry pressed, squelching both the sudden urge to hex some sense into the teenager and the grudging respect he was starting to feel, "The holding your breath? It was all..."

Abruptly, Frank's expression turned sheepish , and Harry found himself holding _his _breath as he waited for an answer.

"Yeah, that was... yeah."

"Harry, what's going on? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, and Harry turned to face the rest of the group with a grim smile on his lips.

"Frank here," he said through tightly clenched teeth, "wanted to strengthen his determination, whatever the cost, so that he would have a better chance of overthrowing the Imperius Curse."

He ignored the gasps, watching as Frank's face burned a bright red, and he said, "I am curios, though, what you did alone in the storage room each night."

Frank's dear-in-the-headlights expression might have been a laughing matter under other circumstances, but as it was, Harry just waited stonily while the Longbottom boy cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, I didn't know you knew about that. Um, so I read in this book that you could Apparate through anti-Apparition wards if your magic, which is fueled by your determination, is stronger than the caster's, so I thought I'd give it a try. Never did manage it, though."

Harry stared at Frank, seeing out of the corner of his eye as Hermione and Ginny shared significant looks—as this was another fact of their research to file away—but he hoped, without really believing that no one else noticed.

Slowly, Harry unclenched his jaw and drew a long, deep breath. Then he nodded.

"I'll talk to Radon," he offered quietly, acquiescing, "He might have something a bit better than suffocating yourself."

Frank smiled thinly and nodded back, and a heavy silence descended on them.

"And now that _that _cat's out of the bag," Sirius said in a forcibly cheery voice, starting to walk back to the common room, "Mind telling me where, exactly, you four were this afternoon? We looked everywhere?"

The Marauders Map, Harry thought with trepidation, and Hermione said, "We were just, erm—"

"We were exploring," he cut in, "Having a look around the castle and whatnot. Must've missed you."

Sirius looked skeptical, but it was Peter who stated boldly, "That's bogus."

Maybe it was because he was stressed, maybe he was tired, maybe the earlier conversation with Ginny had awoken difficult memories and set him on edge, but whatever the case, Harry was excessively rankled at being accused (however correctly) by the coward and traitor-to-be, and he grit his teeth and spat, "What makes you say that?"

Surprised—and undeniably scared, Harry thought with a vindictive surge of pleasure—at his vehemence, Peter took a few hasty steps backwards, but still managed to meet his gaze with something akin to a shaky confidence.

"Oh, please," Peter said with a misleadingly cocky wave of his hand, "I've come up with enough lies to get us out of trouble with the teachers; I _should _know the basics. You obviously interrupted Hermione, like you were afraid she was going to say something you didn't want us to know. It's not exactly a NEWT level assumption."

Hermione tugged on his arm and hissed, "_Calm down, Harry!" _into his ear, and he regretfully backed down before he could say something that would change the future—admittedly, something along the lines of _"Well, you'd know all about lying, wouldn't you, you filthy back-stabbing traitor?!" _was on the tip of his tongue, so he could see Hermione's point.

That didn't mean he didn't think it. Or picture himself taking matters into his own hands. Violently.

**TADA! TAda-da-datada!**

**Hope you liked it! **

**REVIEW!  
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	17. How Quiet Can You Cry?

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**HIYA!**

**You guys totally rock!**

**There were some common questions, or questions that I thought everyone might like to know the answer to, so:**

**What was the original reason for Frank's vibrating dot? **It was the same basic reason--that he was trying to strengthen his "will" so he could fight of the Imperius Curse--but the specific event was different. I first had him doing push-ups and sit-ups rather than trying to apparate, but I figured that I had already had Frank exercising, so this would be something different and better. Or at least I thought so.

**Why isn't Ginny a sixth year? **She already was a sixth year when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were off chasing down Horcruxes, so now she's a seventh year with the others.

**Who is the medic, and where is Poppy? **The medic is Mordecai Trockell, a creepy old man introduced during Quidditch tryouts. Poppy is still training to be a healer.

**Time line? **According to DH, Lily and James were born in 1960, so I'm assuming their seventh year is in 1977-78. Since they die in 1981, that would mean they have four years left to live, as it is "now" October of 1977. If I'm wrong on this, please correct me, but I double-checked everything....

**During Dumbledore and Voldemort's duel in the Department of Mysteries (in Canon), didn't DD animate the statue that blocked the Avada Kedavra, not Transfigure it? **Eh, I don't really know, but I wouldn't classify animation as a charm, either... or Herbology/Potions/Care of Magical Creatures/etc. If nothing else, DD excelled at Transfiguration, and McGonogall animated the suits of armor to fight instead of transfiguring them into soldiers or something...

**AND A SPECIAL THANKS TO: Nosi, Bookcrzygirl** (yeah, i thought it was about time Ron got some of the glory... And Ginny gets a bit of a meltdown this chappie, but I think it's different than you were thinking... :D )**, Keekers15, , Aimael **(hah, yay scenebreaks! haha. But yeah, bit of glory for both Ron and Peter, and I was wondering how many people would find out about the cousin...congrats!)**, Callie258, Hypercell (**zmaan? gize? really? Out of random curiousity, do you know how to pronounce either of those??? XD )**, Lilyre, Lightest'Ink (**frankly, I don't know why I scene break by humming... but it's fun, so I keep doing it. Course, some times i get bored and type random letters, but oh well)**, Huffle-Bibbin, ChristinaAngel, rabid_harry_fan, Lilybetrox **(yay, thanks!)**, TwilightHP, Petites Sorcieres **(haha, yea, James is very, very, very,very full of himself...)**, Ellyanah, TLDriver66, Impeacheuan3122, Harrypotterfan4eve (**ooh, THANK YOU! Okay, I think my dates are right (born in 1960, seventh year is 77-78, died in 1981) but if I'm wrong, please please help me. And I'm sure I'll be asking for contemporary references really soon. :D Thanks again!)**, FmaFan10, Centra-Gal86, creampuff, and anonymous!**

**A/N: I have "up"ed the rating from K+ to T to be safe, for some mentions of possible child abuse (although EVERY event that I mention is in canon)**

**Disclaimer: Rowling gets all the glory, as per usual**

**Aaaaaaaaand ENJOY!!!!  
**

**Chapter 17**

**How Quiet can you Cry?**

_Maybe it was insignificant,_ Harry thought desperately as he hurtled down the corridor, his heart pounding furiously against his ribcage, _She probably used the world "trouble" to mean that there had been an argument or something. Something other than actual, death-defying, blood-and-destruction "trouble." Something other than Voldemort-related trouble. After all, just because he, Harry, had a more dangerous definition of trouble, due to what he'd faced in the war, didn't mean that the whole world did._

But Harry had never been a particularly good liar, least of all to himself, and, true to form, he didn't believe his despairing suppositions, nor did he slow his pace even the slightest.

So he hurried along, crouched under the Invisibility Cloak and stumbling a bit in his haste, and though his lungs were tight with fear, he only ran faster.

McGonogall, who, in all her years of teaching, had a much more widespread reputation for being strict than for being kind, had strode into the Gryffindor common room and gravely but kindly informed Sirius, Remus, and Peter that there had been trouble, and would they please follow her, for James had been asking for them.

Confused and more than a little fearful, the summoned Marauders hurried in her wake. Harry, seized with dread, waited until just short of a minute after the portrait hole had swung closed behind them, then took off after them. Once he was sure he was out of sight of any peering eyes, he swung the Cloak over his shoulders and hurried towards the sound of receding footsteps.

Before he'd been following for even five minutes, his dread was materializing into a pit in his stomach and there was a distinctive lump in his throat. There was very little in this corner of the castle, particularly on this floor, but there _was _ the hospital wing.

"Professor?" Remus asked timidly from somewhere up ahead, hesitation obvious in his voice, "What's going on? I thought James wasn't coming back until tomorrow afternoon?"

McGonogall's weary sigh was clearly audible in the otherwise silent corridors, and her right hand—the Marauders were to her left—clenched tightly into a white-knuckled fist. At last, with carefully measured words and a voice that was just a hair's breadth away from cracking, she responded, "I'm afraid that it is not my place to tell you, but the headmaster will explain when we arrive at—at our destination."

A bare instance of silence as they absorbed what she said—and what she implied. Although he could only see their backs, Harry knew that McGonogall's lips were tight with concern, Remus's eyebrows were furrowed, Sirius's expression was stormy and guarded, and Pettigrew's eyes were wide with fear.

"To hell with the headmaster!" Sirius exploded angrily, suddenly, and McGonogall stumbled a little and stared at him in a vaguely detached surprise. "Tell me what happened to my friend!"

"Mr. Black—Sirius," the professor began, haltingly, "I know that you are confused and scared for your friend, but Professor Dumbledore had requested that I allow him to explain what has transpired. Rest assured that you will know in due course, and that Mr. Potter is in no immediate danger."

Grudgingly, Sirius relapsed into stoic silence, pierced with periodic glares towards the transfiguration professor, and the issue was temporarily dropped. Neither Remus nor Peter dared bring it up again.

Harry, from his vantage point some eight meters behind, was not relieved or even slightly appeased, but instead brooded angrily over the implications of McGonogall's answer—because it meant that _trouble _did, in fact, mean _trouble. _

It took ages, but at last they reached the infirmary, and McGonogall knocked briskly on the door before letting herself—but none of the Marauders—in. There was a brief exchange within the hospital wing before Dumbledore stepped out. McGonogall did not reappear, and—try as he might—Harry couldn't see into the wing during the brief seconds that the door was open.

"Ah, boys," Dumbledore said gravely, peering at them over his spectacles with solemn blue eyes. His face was taut and drawn, as if he'd aged significantly since Harry had last seen him. "It was good of you to come. James will be most pleased. Come, come—I'll explain where we mightn't be happened upon by wandering curfew-breakers..."

His audience didn't smile, unsurprisingly, and Harry could have sworn he saw Sirius's hand twitch towards his wand in irritation, and there was a sound from Remus's general direction that might have been a growl.

Dumbledore gently ushered them into a side room, locking the door and casting sound wards with a flick of the wrist, which left Harry, angry and frustrated to no end, to pace alone on the outside.

After he'd paced the length of the corridor twice, he stopped abruptly. "Hogwarts?" he whispered into the silence, and a deep, resonating chuckle responded.

"I was wondering when you would remember me, child," she chided softly, "Should I feel insulted that it took so long?"

"Please don't," Harry said quickly, "But would you—I mean, I really would like to hear..."

"Your headmaster is attempting to soften the blow, to sugarcoat the brutality of the situation in order to protect Mr. Sirius, Mr. Remus, and Mr. Peter," she answered, and Harry felt himself nodding quickly, impatient, "but I think you are strong enough to hear it outright—tragic as it is, you have faced worse."

Harry nodded briefly, distantly taking the time to appreciate that she did not attempt to coddle him. Hogwart's sigh—the ripple of emotion that shivered in waves through the stone corridors—was audible as she began the tale.

"From what I have gathered—and I have heard a significant amount of talk—the wedding caused a bit of a scandal in some spheres, because James's pureblood cousin Rachel was marrying a muggle. Naturally, there are some who were outraged to hear this. As you may or may not know, some of the more passionate of the Death Eaters have taken it upon themselves to—how to put this delicately—put an _end_ to such allegedly improper marriages."

"And then what?"

Harry swallowed. His stomach was tying itself in knots with dread as he listened to Hogwarts' mournful explanation—things were setting up as he had feared.

"Two quick killing curses," she said gently. "He died in her arms. She passed halfway through her scream."

Harry briefly closed his eyes, and gradually let out the breath he'd been holding. Painstakingly slowly and deliberately, he forced his muscles to relax, suddenly aware that they were cramping. He ignored them.

"And James?" he asked, "Why is he in the hospital wing?"

"His whole family is there, and most of the guests from the wedding, but as a sanctuary from the danger. It was the safest place his mother could think of, and she sent a Portkey full of people. Mind, normally a Portkey would not be able to penetrate my wards, but I recognized the magical signature and allowed them entrance." Harry thought he could detect a faint note of pride in Hogwarts' voice at being thought of as the safest place, even swamped as it was in her sorrow. "Moreover, James has just undergone a most traumatizing ordeal and is being treated for the shock. He is not suffering from any physical damage."

Harry nodded, feeling relieved despite the circumstances. "How are Sirius and them taking it?"

"They are... scared," she answered, after a moment's hesitation, as if she had paused to check in on the three other Marauders, "I cannot interpret Sirius's face—he is terribly closed off, you understand, but he usually is after a reminder of the war, and he let us know how he felt rather vividly with his display of curse words. Remus is horrified, naturally, and worried about James. Impatient to see him—his foot-tapping is incessant. Peter... whatever he choses in the future, he cares deeply for his friends now. I believe he even blames himself. Indubitably, you must know about his vision prior to James's departure?"

Harry blinked. "Vision? What vision?"

"His vision... Were you unaware that Peter is a Seer?"

"A Seer?" Harry repeated dumbly. He shook his head to clear it. "But he always... he never said anything about it. Why wouldn't he..."

Hogwart's _tutted_ in a motherly disapproving fashion. "That child... I had assumed that the conversation had come up sooner or later, perchance while you, James, Sirius, and your lady friend had journeyed to Hogsmeade, or another time when you were outside my boundaries. Peter fancies himself a gifted Seer, and in truth, he really is, but he lacks the confidence to be forthcoming about it. Even his friends believe that he takes Divination for the sole reason that it is an easy class, but they, at the very least, suspect that he may have true talent."

"So Peter saw what happened at the wedding?"

"Bits and pieces of it, but nothing concrete. You have, of course, never experienced a true Seeing, so you mightn't understand, but in Peter's particular branch of expertise, it is the emotions that are conveyed to the Seer, not images, and so little Peter had only a vague idea that something bad might happen. And after your experience with Trelawny's prophecy, you know better than anyone, child, that the future is never what it appears to be."

But Harry, nonplussed, couldn't help but think that the future was pretty certain, considering that he had already watched it play out and was currently twenty years in the past, posed to watch it again.

_**Dudud-Dudud-DUDUDUDUDUD**_

None of the Marauders returned to the Gryffindor Tower until well past midnight, when Remus ventured to the dorms to fetch toothbrushes, clothes for the night, and robes for the following day, and disappeared out the portrait hole shortly thereafter, but Hogwarts kept Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron well informed of the happenings.

The wedding guests departed in the late evening, after having been thoroughly examined by Mordecai Trockell, the medic.

James was given a dreamless sleep potion, but never touched it—instead, he and his closest friends passed the night by talking and joking and laughing, albeit weakly, together. It seemed, to Hogwarts, that James was trying to push the memories of the wedding away—pretend that it had never happened—and she relayed her thoughts on the matter to the four time travelers.

"It simply is not healthy," she scolded under her breath, and they quickly agreed with her to keep her appeased, "But, at least he is smiling. That is all that matters at the moment. The rest will come with time."

James's parents, after asking him for the thirty-second time if he would be able to last the night without them, had floo'd home at nearly eleven, and had since sent multiple owls to request that Dumbledore check in on him.

Dumbledore never slept, either—he paced his office until early morning, muttering strange, disconnected sentences aloud and waving his wand over many of his miscellaneous silver instruments.

_**DigiDiggiDooooogie**_

For their part, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny didn't exactly waste the night, either.

In a sort of frenzy, they scaled the Room of Requirement inside and out, ravaging it for anything at all related to the theory of magic.

"Here's something: _Even when practicing the imprecise art of will magic, the caster must somehow channel the flow of magic, bridle it and control it, entice it to do his bidding... It is not enough to merely want it; one must forge it out of its state of non-being." _Ginny read aloud, and they crowded around the book. "That explains why people don't start casting spells left, right and center, whenever they strike a fancy for chocolates or something."

"I think I found something," Ron announced excitedly, some time later, "Wait, no, that's just some bugger trying to get out of jail..."

"Go on, read it anyway, Ron," Hermione prodded, running her hand over her face and sighing as she laid down her book.

"Er, _Elexander Menderhill, in 1952, claimed that his wife's death had occurred when his six-year-old son had thrown a tantrum for being sent to his room, and a sudden burst of strangely controlled magic—precisely as the child had been screaming, "I wish you were dead! Then I wouldn't have to see your ugly face anymore!"--had streaked from the boy to the woman, killing her instantly. In actuality, as the Aurors later found, Menderhill had killed her himself with the Killing Curse."_

Ron looked up from the book and waited for their reactions.

"That's awful!" Hermione exclaimed immediately, "But you're right, it's no use to us. I suppose we'll have to keep looking."

There were a few cases of minor spells being cast without a proper spell, and a ridiculous amount of legends centering on Merlin's prowess at magic, back before spells were properly invented. Hermione compiled a lengthy list of word combinations in all manner of languages, from ancient Greek to modern-day German, and played with ancient runes and arithmancy and even methods of divining the future.

By the time the sun rose, they had abandoned the books and engaged in playful duels against one another, throwing spells, shielding, and dodging as fast as they physically could.

When they collapsed in an exhausted, laughing heap, the Room of Requirement obligingly supplied them with bean bags and plush chairs, and Hogwarts sent up breakfast by way of the house elves.

They chatted comfortably, musing about the past, the future, and what they would—and could—do about it.

_**Doom-bee-Doom-bee-Doom-bee-deeDoom**_

As the next few days passed, Harry tried to give James some space to grieve, but before long it became obvious that James was avoiding him. Him. Not humanity as a whole, not the time travelers, him. Harry. His future son.

When Ginny cornered Gryffindor's star chaser about it, he was brutally, achingly honest.

_"Harry?" James repeated, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding Ginny's gaze, "Harry... well, he's just different. Twisted. Depressing. You know that look he gets in his eyes? Like he's been through hell, and not only lived to tell the tale, but met the devil himself face to face and, I dunno, spat in his eye, or something. It scares the crap out of me. _

_"And those scars he's got? You all have them, but not like he does. I mean, a lightening bolt? That can't be an accident. I always ignored it—figured it was your lookout, and I probably didn't want to know anyway. But it's there, it's real. _

_"The jokes, the Imperius lessons; the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Radon; and with Mandlebrook too, now I think of it; the nightmares—he looked like he was dying, for Merlin's sake! Ice cold, pale as a ghost, shaking... Ginny, he used silencing spells because he didn't want people to know he had nightmares! What does that tell you about his state of mind?!"_

_Shaking violently, both with anger and repressed tears, and looking as though he'd slapped her, that was when Ginny finally snapped._

_"Shut up! Just shut up already!" Breathing heavily, she stared angrily into his startled eyes, "Look, you can't—you have no right to—if anyone, _anyone_, deserves to be a little 'twisted', as you put it, if they feel like it—to joke about the war, to have nightmares, to look 'scary'—then it's Harry. You don't know what he's been through—you can't judge him!_

_"His parents DIED, James, and he was sent to live with his lousy relatives..."_

_Ginny's voice fell to a pain-racked whisper, and she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to James, who had to lean forward to hear, his face betraying his hesitancy, his horror, his nagging worry that maybe didn't want to know...._

_"We don't know for sure—Merlin knows he's never talked about it—but at the very least, he was neglected and unloved there. Whether or not they actually hurt him, we have no idea, but we know he never got enough food, never had a proper Christmas, never got a real birthday present. When I was eleven, my brothers went to rescue him in that flying car I'm sure Ron's told you about—there were bars on his window and he was definitely being starved."_

_James looked sick, repulsed, but Ginny plowed on nonetheless. It was as if she didn't even know he was there anymore._

_"When I was fourteen, his neck was kind of purple and splotched for a while—as if he'd been strangled—but we all pretended we didn't notice. He would have brooded forever, if we'd mentioned it."_

_James hesitated, then nodded at her—as if to say that he'd gotten her point—and turned to go. Ginny chuckled darkly and he abruptly stilled. Her voice grew louder and more hoarse, simultaneously desperate and hopeless._

_"That's hardly even the beginning, James. He led Ron up against a troll to save Hermione, back before they were friends or anything, and he fought off a ba—a giant, deadly snake to rescue me when I was only Ron's little sister. You couldn't even imagine the things he's seen, gone through..._

_"There was this time, he would have been fifteen, and, Y—er, the man who murdered his parents wanted Harry dead too, and he somehow managed to convince Harry that his godfather was being tortured. Harry, of course, being Harry, rushed off to his rescue, with us beside him. It was a trap, obviously, but Harry distracted the Death Eaters and we kind of got away... there was fighting, and I don't remember what happened when, but I broke my ankle, and was just in pain from there on out..."_

_James sat down heavily on the window sill, staring at Ginny in numb horror._

_"I didn't get the full story until later, back in the hospital wing, but adults showed up to rescue us, and Harry's godfather was killed right in front of him, and apparently Harry was in the middle of some major duel and was possessed for a bit."_

_Ginny turned to look out the window, a veil of hair hiding her tear-streaked face from James. _

_"Again, these are just bits and pieces of his life—not even the biggest parts, those would traumatize you for sure, even just hearing about it. Merlin knows they gave me nightmares. Harry's almost died more times than I can count, and the worst thing is, sometimes it's like he's _ready _to die—as if, if he thought it would save someone, he'd just throw his life away. He would, too. _

_"He broke up with me, about a year ago, but it wasn't because he'd moved on or anything. No... He thought it would make me a target, put me in danger, if I was close to him. So he pushed me away—denied himself, and me too, the happiness we were sharing, because he thought it would save me._

_"Point is, Harry is just... he's just Harry. You can't label him, not without knowing his story... because he's earned the right to be a bit twisted and depressed. And what you said about the devil, and Harry spitting on his face or something, for all intents and purposes, Harry has. But only after the devil murdered his parents and who knows how many others."_

Hogwarts had allowed Harry to witness the entire conversation, and he was shaking by the end of it.

He wasn't sure what hurt more—that Ginny had spilled his darkest secrets so candidly and unabashedly, or that James condemned him for them.

He knew that Ginny's intentions were good—she had assumed that if James could understand Harry, he'd stop avoiding him—and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have minded so much that she'd been so open about his past if only it had served any good.

But instead he tried to pretend he didn't notice—didn't care—when James deliberately up and left the room when he walked in it, that James fell silent whenever he approached. This, of course, led to strained dinner conversations and awkward moments in the dorm, especially as the rest of the Marauders began to follow suit.

Peter did so willingly, eager to please with every scared and shaken nerve.

Sirius was supportive of James in an almost overprotective way, driving away Harry and the others to keep James safe from reminders of the dreaded war.

Remus seemed tattered and weary, and tried to stay loyal to himself and the group. He refused to sever his ties with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but Harry nonetheless noticed that Remus tended to spend less and less time with them as the days went on.

It was a while before Harry consciously realized that he wasn't the only one excluded—it was as if the Marauders had pitted themselves against the entire school. They still interacted, of course—in class, in the Great Hall, pulling pranks, Quidditch practices—but they spent more time in seclusion than ever before.

All four disappeared for long hours at a time, reappearing in all manner of states: wind-swept, sopping wet, laughing like mad, or running as if for their life. Pranks were pulled in a feverish frenzy, though none of the time travelers were ever consulted in planning—in fact, they were often the recipients of dreadful wardrobes or strange spells. Harry and Ginny were largely ignored during Quidditch practices, and in retaliation Ron ignored James and Sirius, so the team was divided and accomplished next to nothing.

Radon's classes were the only ones during which James pretended that the war existed at all—when he did, he eyes were stormy and conflicted, and although he just barely scraped by on written work, practical work occasionally had the teen fully immersed—but only sometimes.

_**Dizz-Dee-Dooz-Dee-Doz-Di-Doz**_

"For my presentation," Hermione began, speaking in a slow, clear voice, as if she'd practiced the speech many times, "I am going to explore the common misconception that it is impossible to cast two different spells at the same time."

She paused, her eyes roving from face to face and zeroing in on Radon's inscrutable expression as he made a small mark on his parchment. Hermione drew a deep breath.

"While incorrect, the belief stems from two basic facts of magic: one, that a single wand can cast only a single spell at a given instant; and two, that the wand choses the wizard. As the former is self-explaining, I shall focus instead on the latter.

"Each wand has been constructed and molded precisely so that it can shape the magic that passes through it, but because each wizard or witch is unique, so is his or her magic. A wand identifies with the witch or wizard it is most compatible with, and together they learn and grow in ability. Consequentially, if someone picks up another's wand, they lack that bond, so the wand will not work as well and will be unable to perform even simple spells without intense concentration.

"However, there are ways of obtaining the allegiance of a second wand, which will then work for the caster. With two loyal wands at their disposal, two spells can be cast.

"To demonstrate..."

She paused to take out her wand and the Elder, which she had borrowed from Harry earlier in the week after sharing her suspicions that the Elder Wand, powerful as it was, could work like a normal wand for anyone who wasn't it's owner—which would explain why Voldemort had professed, shortly before killing Snape in the battle at Hogwarts, that he had performed his "usual magic" with the wand.

Sharply and nonverbally, she jerked the one wand down and flicked the other; simultaneously, water flowed from the Elder Wand and purple sparks emitted from her own.

Radon made another mark on his parchment and nodded to her, his eyes lingering on the Elder Wand.

There was a spattering of applause and she took her seat.

Ron, looking distinctly green, replaced her at the front of the classroom. Harry flashed him a two-thumbs up, and Ron grinned weakly back.

"Er, I'm going to, er, talk about how it's impossible to survive the Avada Kedavra curse."

All around the room, backs stiffened, heads snapped up, and sharp intakes of breath were heard, and Radon immediately commenced scribbling across his parchment.

A wave of horror washed over Harry, settling uncomfortably in his stomach, and he shot Ron a distinctly panicked look. Ron flicked his hand dismissively, though, and Harry sat back in his chair to wait.

"Um, obviously I'm not demonstrating, or anything, but all the same...." He cleared his throat loudly and began. "The thing about the Unforgivable curses is you can't cast them on a whim—you have to mean them. You have to really, honestly, blood-thirstily want to control, torture, or kill, or else they hardly do anything. But, that's the catch—they _hardly_ do anything. That doesn't mean they don't do anything at all."

"I used to have this tutor who, when he taught us about the Unforgivable Curses, swore that we—Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and I, that is—could all cast the curse at him, and nothing would happen to him worse than a nosebleed.

"The thing about that is, he would have to actually be hit by the curse to get the nosebleed... Meaning he would have survived the curse."

Looking around the room, it was entertaining to watch as, one by one, people started to understand. A fifth year girl grew thoughtful, idly tapping her chin with her finger; a seventh year Ravenclaw's eyes widened as he realized that he had to reevaluate everything he had known...

Harry, however, had the bizarre urge to laugh, insane though it might be.

Ever since his introduction to the magical world, he'd always, _always,_ been acclaimed as the Boy-Who-Lived—the whispers, the press, the attention.

He'd survived the killing curse, and the world thought that made him unique, special. But Ron was right—with the Unforgivables, it wasn't just waving your wand and saying the words; bloodthirst was needed.

Which meant Harry couldn't have been the first to survive.

He felt himself grinning stupidly, but he didn't care—and it wasn't like anyone was paying attention to him, anyway. He knew it didn't make any difference: he'd be considered a hero no matter what, and there was a difference between surviving a weak, unformed Killing Curse and surviving Voldemort's powerful one, after so many had fallen to it.

But he still felt more free than he had in ages.

Ron's face, he saw as he tuned back in to reality, was flushed a deep scarlet red, and he muttered, "Er, that's the end."

Blushing madly, Ron ducked his head and all but ran to his seat, amidst hasty, surprised clapping that Harry didn't really hear.

James was next, and he was hurriedly looking over his notes, his expression uneasy. As Radon barked, "_Next!"_, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the rubbish bin, sauntered to the front.

He lounged comfortably before the class, aimed a roguish grin at the audience, and began with a self-satisfied smirk.

"It's been widely thought," he announced, "by our sorely misguided generation, that it is impossible for our very own Severus Snape to sport the general hygiene skills most of us have known since an early age. To disprove this supposed impossibility, please watch carefully. S_courgify!" _He flicked his wand towards Snape, who threw up a hasty shield against the oncoming spell but was too late—James's spell hit the teenage Snape squarely in the face. Bubbles rapidly foamed forth, ignoring Snape's furious yell, pouring out of his mouth and lathering in his hair....

Snape shot various curses at where he supposed James was, but he couldn't see because of the soap and the spells went wide.

The class roared with laughter—even Ginny and Hermione were fighting a chuckle, and only Lily looked angry.

Harry snapped, throwing up a shield that rocketed James and Snape apart, summoning their wands, and vanishing the bubbles.

"ENOUGH!" He bellowed.

There was a hushed, breathless silence as James and Snape stared at him sulkily and cautiously, wary of further curses, and the class was wide-eyed, the laughter gone from their expressions.

"Potter," growled Radon, though his voice was hesitant, and Harry spun to face him. "Give them back their wands. It's over. They both have their heads screwed back on, correctly this time, and neither is going to attempt a duel in my presence." Radon turned menacingly on the two disarmed teens, "Isn't that right, boys?"

James agreed vigorously, and Snape nodded once, curtly. Harry handed Snape his wand before giving James his.

As they returned to their seats and tension built, Radon called, "_Next!" _and Sirius started his speech with a carefully guarded glance towards James.

"It has long been said," Sirius began in a theatrically low and mysterious voice, "That anyone who believes nothing is impossible ought to try slamming a revolving door. I stand hear today, ladies and gentlemen and oh so slimy Slytherins, to prove that, not only is it possible to do so, it is very easy. So easy that maybe even the Slytherins will understand, but I'm not sure I can give their tiny brains that much credit.

"But I digress. Anyway, all you need is to get the door going really, really fast... and a conveniently placed person—preferably a Slytherin—to shove in the way. And tada! SLAM!"

_**DeuDouaei-DaeuuDueo-Deeiommmmmmeee**_

Once the presentations were over and the students of the Imperius-Defense class were dismissed, Radon barked, "Potter, Snape, stick around!"

James, Harry, and Snape lingered back, waving for their friends to go on ahead, and waited as the classroom emptied.

Radon informed James of the time and place of his detention for using Snape as his demonstration, and sent him off with a scathing look, leaving Snape and Harry alone with the grizzled trainer.

"You two," Radon said, sounding almost civil rather than his usual bark, "as my assistants and the only two who have successfully overthrown the Imperius thus far, have a decision to make. I've been called away on field work for an indefinite amount of time—might be a week, might be a year, might never come back. I don't know when, if at all, you'll get a replacement teacher, or if they'll know anything worth teaching.

"So, point blank," Radon eyed them speculatively, "are you two willing to teach the class in my absence?"

Harry stared at him. _The others will be pleased_, he thought bitterly,_After all, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were all begging me to teach them, back before we knew we'd get Radon._

But he still had the same objections. How do you teach a skill that comes naturally by now? It was like teaching a left-handed person to write with their right hand.

Snape sat in silence as well, and Harry glanced at him, but his face was as inscrutable as ever.

Radon, recognizing the silence as uncertainty, spoke again. "I can show you both exercises to teach them, or you can come up with your own. You can alternate teaching days, or teach together—it doesn't matter to me. I just want the kids to be taught."

"What about testing?" Snape said smoothly from behind his unreadable mask, "Are we to cast the Imperius on them?"

Radon nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I can teach you how, and pull a few strings in the Ministry so you won't be jailed for it, so long as it is in a classroom setting and during class."

Harry noted—distantly—that Radon didn't quite meet his eyes as he finished the sentence, and Harry thought he knew why: when Radon had attacked _him_ with the Imperius Curse, to prove that Harry could overthrow it, it had not been in the classroom, nor had class been in session.

"There will be extra lessons for anyone on the verge of overthrowing the curse," Radon was saying, "As you were, Snape, and as Longbottom is now, but they consist mostly of casting the curse on them and letting them fight it. If someone is that close, they will practice the mind games on their own time."

Harry glanced, deep in thought, at Snape, to see what he thought. The expression of the pallid-faced teenager was as indiscernible as ever, but something passed through his eyes—Snape wanted this, but wasn't going to admit it first.

"Alright," Harry said slowly, "I'll do it."

Radon's expression was distinctly gratified, but still Snape hesitated.

"I suppose," he acquiesced at last, "If only to protect my friends from the clutches of a Gryffindor for a teacher. Merlin knows McGonogall is enough to deal with."

But of course, Harry laughed to himself, it wasn't the Slytherins who would need protection.

_**Deuo-Dal-Deuo-Dal-Deuo-DAL**_

They discussed possible approaches to lessons and various exercises they could try, and after it was determined that Radon would leave a week later, Harry and Snape were dismissed. They nodded to one another, and Harry lingered behind while Snape strode off.

Harry glanced sideways at Radon, who was rifling through a mass of parchment that covered his desk.

"Sir?" He waited until Radon looked up, then said, "The speeches today? About disproving a commonly accepted impossibility? How did you grade those?"

While Harry understood the point of delivering the speeches—the questioning of what should be obvious and the speaking up about it—he couldn't for the life of him fathom what Radon was scribbling on the parchment the whole time.

Surely whether or not someone paused at the right moments or spoke at just the right volume didn't affect their chances of overthrowing the curse?

Radon grinned at him—the result was a rather mangled expression, but it was nonetheless good to know that the man had a sense of humor. "Always knew you were a bright one, Potter! Naw, grades don't come from the speeches—here, take a look."

With that, Radon shoved the parchment towards Harry, who stared at it in confusion.

Scrawled across the top margin were times, divided into five minute intervals, during which the class had taken place. _10:00 !0:05 !0:10 !0:15... _Right up until the end of class.

The left margin held the names of each student in the class.

Where a time column and name row intersected, Radon had scribbled notes about the student's manner, expression, and expletives—marking precisely when someone had grown bored, suddenly gasped, began to drum their fingers, or held a violent war with their quills under their desk.

Harry stared at it, bewildered, and was all too aware of Radon's piercing eyes boring into his head and watching his expression for comprehension.

But Harry was long past trying to live up to everybody's expectations.

"So what's this for? You need to learn how someone's mind works to help them?"

"That's part of it," Radon answered, shrugging, "Maybe even most of it. But it also helps keep track of their progress—the fewer emotions you can read on a person's face, the more in control they are, so their less susceptible to the curse. You specifically, however, would have failed, so it's only so effective."

"I would have failed?" Harry repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah. Your face is guarded enough, usually, but your eyes are way too expressive. I didn't take any notes on you, though, but every time your friends were up, you always felt one way or another about it. And you had the stupidest grin on your face for a bit, too. Not that that's bad, really, but unfeeling logic is a lot harder to manipulate than ever-changing emotions."

Harry shrugged, and hesitated. Radon waited, but was silent.

"Sir, there was something else... You said you were going off on field work, so I thought you could keep an eye out—I overheard Mulciber, seventh year Slytherin, saying he was leaving the country on a mission for Voldemort, and that he'd already had five missions: two Killing Curse and three Imperius. He's in the hospital wing now, though, and has been for ages, so he's obviously delayed. I just thought someone on the outside should know."

Radon eyed him speculatively, his face unreadable, and Harry wondered if it would have been better had he kept quiet.

Slowly, the grizzled man nodded, and Harry turned to leave, his mind churning. He heard Radon's office door close, and glanced at it to verify that the instructor had indeed disappeared behind it.

He started to leave, but the rubbish bin caught his attention. Extracting the small wad of discarded notes that James had pitched, he hurried from the room and smoothed them out.

As he had suspected, it detailed a speech very different than the mocking one James had delivered, but still Harry read it with surprise.

_**Animagus**_

_McGonogall said it would be impossible with our work schedule_

_and much too difficult for any of the younger years _

_but I accomplished it_

_took__:_

_lots and lots and lots of time_

_way too much research_

_more headaches than I can count _

_but:_

_definitely worth it_

_[transform and let them ooh and ahh over how awesome my Stag is]_

Harry frowned.

So James had been willing to spill the big secret for an assignment and a bit of attention—the idea was mind-boggling.

But then, their Hogwarts years were almost over. Maybe James thought that there wouldn't be any point in hiding it once their schooling was completed. Maybe he thought that he would get accolades for accomplishing such difficult magic at such a young age.... Merlin knows Harry would never understand why anyone would want attention, but James definitely did.

It was significant, too, that James would share his secret but not the others'. It was possible that he realized that saying he, Sirius, and Peter had managed it would make people question why Remus didn't. Or perhaps they had decided that a stag was too conspicuous and would be useless in the planning of a prank—unlike a common rat or lovable stray dog, which would be excellent assets when sneaking around or spying.

Harry shrugged. None of it mattered, really.

But then, with James pretending Harry didn't exist, it was hard to feel that anything on a lower level than blood-and-destruction trouble actually did matter.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as he'd seen James do almost constantly.

At least he had Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He picked up the pace, knowing that the three of them would be waiting for him on the Quidditch pitch, where they'd earlier decided to spend their free period.

**---------------------**

**And there ya go! Hope you liked it...**

**Question: What did you guys think about the Ginny and James conflict scene? Did I do that okay? Have Ginny say too much? Should she have said something else instead? Mentioned other instances? Anything?  
**


	18. The Bitterest of Laughs

-smiles sheepishly-

Er, HI! Um, yeah, it's been a loooong time. I know. Sorry about that. No, I have no intention whatsoever of abandoning either this fic or it's parallel.

Next: The Ginny/James Conflict scene--reactions of that were SO varied (some thought it needed a lot of work and some thought it was perfect) and I decided, eventually, just to leave it as is. Thank you ALL for your input!

Furthermore: future plotting/planning- thanks for all of the ideas, but, to be honest, I have most of the story planned out. AKA, I know when and where and how and who will find out about them being from the future, how things will be changed, what future blow-ups might happen, etc. The sub-plots (Imperius Defense, DADA, Mulciber, Frank, Snape, etc.) are less planned, and instead wan and wax as the story progresses, but the main plot is set. The only thing i haven't decided yet is how and when it will end, but obviously you guys can't help much with that.

Reviews! Thanks, as always, to everyone! lilyre hushpuppy22 Nosi nikkila keekers15 OfcOUrsE'Im'hUmAn hypercell Ali-chan et Vani-chan aimael PrettyFanGirl Lord Bear (my gosh, i don't think I can stop blushing!) dramaqueen callie258 petites sorcieres (yes, they know that Harry actually died... but Ginny knew taht she couldn't say that to James, and no, Voldemort did not kow that Peter was a Seer -grins-) harrypotterfan4eve (thanks for the offer, and I might take you up on it eventually, but at this point it takes me long enough to get the chapter up without it going through a beta, too. thanks, though) Lightest'Ink Kaida Fox DanielHimura kitsune738 .Starlightxx (I think I addressed both of your concerns this chapter--thank you for bringing them to my attention!) nightwing27 (yes, they will -eventually- change things) ChristinaAngel greekgoddessofthehunt pi=3.14 Who-wants-to-know? (thank you very much, for the advice and critique!) and Anonymus (blush- Thanks!)

And now...

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 18**

The Bitterest of Laughs

"Ugh, my head!" Ron groaned, wincing as he raised a hand to gingerly inspect the growing lump on the back of his head.

Harry, offering his hand to Ron and helping him up, felt a small grin tug at the corners of his mouth.

"You know," Ron panted, after he had straitened himself out, "I'm not so sure... I like dueling with you... anymore. You're just too... good. Fast. Bloody _amazing_."

But Harry just laughed, breathing heavily as well, and offered him a goblet of water before gulping one down himself. The icy water streaked down his throat, cold and refreshing, and there was a moment of relative silence as each caught their breath and gathered their energy.

"Again?" Ron asked at last, as Harry had known he would, with a note of steely resolve. They set down their empty goblets on the table, which, as they were in the Room of Requirement, promptly disappeared according to Harry's wishes. "I swear, I will beat one of these days. Eventually. If, you know, I get lucky or something, and you don't have your wand, and you've been petrified...."

"Slow and steady wins the race, right?" Harry teased, "Just have to do it over and over again and wait for the perfect opportunity?"

"Exactly! Er, what race are we talking about?"

"Nothing important. Count of three, ready?"

"Set. GO!!"

Ron launched into action, waving his wand—there was a flash of orange, which Harry easily dodged before countering with a nonverbal jelly legs hex.

"Not much of a three, huh, Ron?"

"Eh," Ron grunted, "I like ready-set-go better anyway."

And then the fight was on.

_**Dum-Dy-Doom-Dee-Dummdi-dy-doom**_

It was a cold, overcast Saturday, and they showered, dressed, and ate there in the Room of Requirement—Hogwarts had provided, at their request, a spectacular breakfast of ham and eggs—before heading back to Gryffindor Tower. As they neared the dorm, however, raised voices were carried from behind the closed door, and Harry and Ron stopped abruptly.

"Because it's not you I'm afraid of, Moony!" James voice, undeniably angry, exploded, and Harry couldn't help but flinch.

"Listen to what you're saying—you're not making sense!"

That was Remus, frustrated and furious. Harry felt Ron take a deep, shuddering breath from somewhere beside him, but his own eyes had clouded—he was back at Grimmauld Place, and he and Remus raged to the other, Remus wanted to join him and the others on their hunt for Horcruxes....

He shook himself firmly and turned to go—this clearly wasn't something they should interrupt—but James's next words, spoken so fiercely and deliberately, froze him to the bone.

"_Harry—is—different!" _

A heavy silence, then:

"Explain."

Remus's tautly restrained command—albeit short and cold—seemed to have a partially calming effect on James, who said tightly and measuredly, as if through gritted teeth, but at least wasn't yelling anymore, "I never was afraid of you. Of what you are. I didn't care what you could do to me."

Remus made a noise like a half-strangled animal, but James shushed him.

"Stupid? Maybe. But I really didn't. I don't. The animal inside you, Moony... The worst it could do is hurt me, kill me, turn me into—into something like it," James laughed bitterly. "None of that's scary. It's just an adventure. One that, truthfully, I might never walk away from, but I can roll with the hexes. I'd take whatever it threw at me—even dying."

Silence again, heavy and so oppressive that Harry was glad when Remus broke it, asking restrictedly in a closely guarded voice, "And what could Harry do to you that's so terrifying?"

James laughed that same self-depreciating laugh, and something _thudded_—Harry rather thought that James had punched a wall.

"Turn me into him. Into my grandfather. Into the Auror at—at the wedding, the one who heard her scream and saw the green flashes, who looked sad as hell and was suddenly a few hundred years older." He paused briefly. "It was like he was under a spell, he moved so fast but was so disconnected—on his feet in less than a second, protective charms in place, moving towards the place the Death Eaters were."

"So what? He probably lost someone in the war—almost everyone has, by now. And yeah, so his instincts are good—that's not exactly a bad thing." Remus's voice, though it was obviously meant to be comforting, fell flat and, oddly, sounded much too loud in the stifling air. Remus must have observed the same, because by the end of his statement, his voice was exceedingly quiet

"That's not all," James whispered hoarsely, as if Remus hadn't spoken. Their volume had fallen so much that Harry had to hold his breath and press his ear against the door to better hear. "There was a battle—a small one, I suppose, as it was just the four or so Aurors in the crowd against a handful of Death Eaters, and it was all over pretty fast..."

"And?"

James swallowed loudly. "And the one Auror, the one I had seen earlier, he got hit. With the Cruciatus Curse. I've never—_never—_heard such awful screaming... Not when you transform, not when that third year broke his leg in Quidditch tryouts last year... And the worst part was, when they ended the curse—the Death Eaters were even laughing, if you can believe it—and the guy, he looked disappointed. He didn't _want_ to survive."

There was an odd, strangled sort of desperation in James's voice that Harry couldn't fully identify, but whatever it was kept Remus silent during the pause that followed James's rant. Not all was quiet, however—irregular and rapid footsteps began to pace from one side of the room to the other.

At long last, James spoke again.

"And _that_, Moony, is what terrifies me. That this war can do that to someone. And... I feel like Harry is kinda on the same flying carpet as that Auror... A few hundred years older than they should be, so much pain that it would be easier if it was over, that odd look in their eyes—and Harry's like that almost all the time, or at least at random times when there's nothing all that, I dunno, war-like going on. And I can tell he's strong, stronger than I ever could be, but he broke anyway. What chance could I have?"

A pause, during which neither Remus nor James moved—the pacing had completely stopped—until finally Remus said, softly, "But remember when Hermione told us that Harry's boggart is a dementor? That it means he's afraid of despair? Well, what if he's just as freaked out by it as you are? He's just a teenager like us, and maybe all he wants to be is normal."

James scoffed. "Who wants to be normal?"

"Lots of people. Harry, for one."

"Well, I don't. But I don't want to be desperate and scarred and disappointed when I survive, either."

"And you think Harry _does_?"

"I don't know! He's not exactly trying that hard to fit in—the four of them go off on their own all the time, and when they come back they're usually all depressed and stuff."

"Well, we don't know what they're doing—they could be working on something important, and Merlin knows _you _get depressed whenever you have to do any work."

"But he can't even get mad like a normal person! I dunno if you heard, but Padfoot and I gave him a rainbow beard yesterday and turned his hair to match, then hid to watch the fireworks. Hermione looked like an insulted hippogriff on his behalf and would have hexed us to kingdom come, but he just smiled that sad smile and held her back. She even changed him back to normal, but no, he shook his head and waved his wand and was rainbow again."

"Maybe he liked it—thought it was funny. _You _would have."

"He didn't laugh. Looked kinda miserable, if you ask me."

"I think you're going about this all wrong, Prongs, because there are lots of times when Harry's normal, too. When he laughs, or plays Quidditch, or complains about homework—"

"He's going through the motions," James interrupted, flatly, "Most of the time, anyway. Yeah, there's flashes of a regular teenager in there, but.... I just don't know, Moony. Not anymore."

Remus protested, "But look at the way he acts with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione! You can see the closeness, the friendship—he really cares about them. Like you care about us."

Harry tried—really, really tried—to appreciate that Remus was standing up for him so avidly, but couldn't manage to summon the energy. Instead, he tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head back to the common room. He'd had enough.

As they left, Harry heard James say, "But it's not the same! I relax around you lot, and it's not like I'm our _leader_, for Merlin's sake! Harry's always in this—this mode, I guess, where he's all alert and tense. And they're not. They look at him, see him tense, and they tense up, and nothing happens..."

Harry quickened his pace so he didn't have to hear anymore.

_**Di-Doo-DeeDyDum-Di-Doo-oo-OO**_

The warm sunlight glittered across the Black Lake, sparkling brightly on the crests of the waves. An icy gust of wind tore above the expanse of water, cutting Harry to the bone. Even though he was perched on a rock by the lake's edge and therefore very exposed to the elements, he didn't notice either.

Hermione shivered in the wind. "C-Come on, Harry," she begged, teeth chattering violently, "We'd b-best get inside. Where it's w-warm."

"You go on," he said dully, "I'll catch up later."

"You're n-not even wearing your c-cloak!"

He wasn't, but didn't care in the least. He was numb to the world.

"I'm not cold."

It was silent then, so Hermione must have gone back inside—or at least that was what Harry assumed, until he felt his limbs snap together, hard as stone, and his body raise up in the air. Petrified, he was able to move only his eyes, and he darted his gaze to the side, where he saw Hermione looking distinctly pleased with herself.

"Come along, H-Harry," she called in a falsely cheerful sing-song voice, though she was still shivering, and with a flick of her wand, he floated along behind her.

She led his floating body along without a backward glance, and Harry struggled in vain against the petrification, but the spell held and he was forced to concede defeat.

Hermione strolled casually but confidently to the entrance and, though she held the door open for him as he bobbed and drifted inside, she firmly kept her gaze anywhere but on him.

It wasn't until the icy wind was blocked by the doors slamming shut that Harry comprehended just how thoroughly chilled to the bone he was; however, even as his muscles involuntarily spasmed against the cold and the body bind, his mind was removed from it—he couldn't bring himself to care.

Hermione was stomping her feet, shaking the snow off of her shoes, but she still didn't look at Harry. She did, however, speak to him.

"You really do need to stop avoiding Ginny, Harry," she admonished, her words freezing Harry far better than the raw elements had been able to.

_Avoiding Ginny? _

It was absurd—and definitely not true. They ate together at meals, whenever they both deigned to go to the Great Hall, and even sometimes when no one felt like braving the other students and they ate elsewhere instead. They had classes together, they played Quidditch together (both training and recreational), and they hung out in the common room together.

So what was Hermione going on about?

"You two never go anywhere alone anymore. You never even look at her unless Ron or I are there too. And it's hurting her, more than she lets on."

Harry, unable to fight against her spell, gave this thought. It was true that he and Ginny hadn't gone off on their own since her confrontation with James, but they spent ample time together when not precisely alone.... Although she _had _seemed rather down the last couple of days.

"Listen, I know you're upset about whatever it is that she told James, but I think you should at least let her explain herself. She was only trying to help."

Here, Hermione at last turned to look at him fully, and he was astonished to see tears glistening in her eyes.

"I can't stand to see what this is doing to both of you, but with the Marauders so—so confused and messed up, we really have to stand together. Don't let this tear us apart, Harry, please!"

He felt his eyes soften—it felt strange when his face was stuck scowling—and tried to communicate through them.

"Oh, alright," Hermione acquiesced, somehow understanding, "but only if you promise to give her a chance."

Harry blinked twice, rapidly, and Hermione took it for the agreement it was meant to be and waved her wand. Instantly, his limbs were free and he was gently lowered to the ground.

"And there I thought you were going to leave me up there all day," he muttered, and her lips twitched in a small smile.

"This way," she said, gesturing into an empty classroom. "She's right in here—and very, very anxious to talk to you."

"What?! Now?" Harry yelped, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes. Now. Merlin knows you'd never do it, otherwise."

Harry, knowing it was a battle he would automatically lose, surrendered and drew a deep, shuddering breath. He slipped inside, neither knowing nor caring if Hermione followed or not.

_**Di Dee Di Dee Doodu lee di**_

Ginny was perched, stony faced, on top of a large cabinet, her legs swinging idly in midair. By the tense set of her shoulders, Harry knew she was terrified—though what scared her, he didn't know—and he felt his own shoulders droop, ever so slightly, at the sight.

They were at a standoff: he stared at her and she stared right back at him. Two hard, inscrutable faces; two pairs of guarded eyes.

"Ginny," he muttered, at last finding his voice. He twisted his hands. "I'm sorry if I've been avoiding you. I didn't mean to."

_Why did she have to stay so silent?_

Slowly, methodically, she swung off of the cabinet and moved steadily towards him. Her eyes, always so warm and brown and friendly, held only a determined sort of defiance that had only been directed at him a handful of times before.

She paused only when she was right in front of him.

"That isn't the problem." Her voice was strong and firm, but she twitched her hands in a way that she only did when she was nervous. Harry waited for her to continue.

"The problem is that you don't like what I told James. You don't like the way that I stood up for you."

There it was, hard and clear—no way to avoid it. Harry nodded.

"And what would you rather I told him?" Ginny asked, her voice hard. "About how you're just like him—just a normal teenage boy? How you get worked up over Quidditch and hate dancing and annoy your teachers?"

"Yes!" Harry answered, his anger flaring. "Yes, I would, actually. But instead, you decided to spill my life story and make it out like I'm some damaged and messed-up freak!"

Ginny clenched her teeth, and it seemed that only her remarkable restraint kept her from hitting him. "And what would that have accomplished? You're _not _normal—you might want to be, but normal people don't fight basilisks to rescue a friend's little sister. They don't try to leave a safe place because they think it puts others in danger. They don't keep trusting their friends no matter how dangerous it is, or how likely it seems that they've been betrayed. They don't use the Disarming Spell against Death Eaters, let alone Voldemort, or fight in a duel they haven't a chance of winning, or willingly die so that a dark lord becomes mortal again! Normal people aren't that brave or self-denying or reckless or heroic or bold or determined or amazing!"

He wanted to rage, to scream, to tell her to shut up, he didn't want to hear it... but her words knifed through him, petrifying him like Hermione's curse had, and he couldn't move.

And she didn't stop there. "Harry, if I had told him that you were normal, just another teenager, he would have seen through it in a second, especially because he _wants _to believe that you're... damaged." She smiled humorlessly, a mirthless, self-depreciating smile. "So I told him what he _wanted _to hear. That you _should _be messed up. I figured it would be the one thing that he could see through almost as fast as you're being completely normal; reckoned that if he heard just how screwed up you really should be, he'd realize just how normal you actually are in comparison. I thought that _anyone_ who looked at you would immediately see how messed-up and normal and valiant and selfless and absolutely extraordinary you are, all at the same time."

Harry had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak. "So you just decided to share my life with him? That's not something for you to share with any random stranger that you think might want to know!"

Ginny's mouth opened and closed several times. "Random stranger?! He's _James! _ Your _f—"_

"_Silencio!"_

Her face twisted in fury before wilting, and then she promptly looked appalled as she comprehended what she had nearly said. Harry, breathing heavily, didn't move to cancel the charm.

"I know who he is," he said shortly, "But if he's going to turn on me because I'm me, I'm past caring about it. He doesn't deserve to know."

He waved his wand and turned to go. Ginny used her newly returned voice to make one last statement in James's defense. "He doesn't know you."

Harry paused, but answered without looking back. "At this point, I don't think I want him to."

He walked out the door, then hesitated. Slowly, pointedly, he turned back. Ginny smiled sadly at him and nodded at his unspoken question.

He nodded back—all was well between the two of them—and walked out the door, never stopping until he was certain that he was well and truly alone.

_**Dee Dee Dee Dee dum Dee Dee Dee dum dum dummm**_

The room tilted threateningly, spinning wildly out of control, his chest ached so much that he would be surprised if one or two of his ribs hadn't already cracked, and his mouth tasted of sickly sweet, metallic blood.

And then, unable to stand it a moment longer, he caved in and laughed—laughed until tears streaked down his cheeks in great rivulets and he had collapsed to the hard stone floor, abandoning the futile fight for balance.

He laughed because it was just that horribly twisted and ironic; because everyone that he'd lost was alive and well, and hated him because he wasn't; because he'd finally started to feel stable and secure again, only to have it ripped away.

He laughed because it didn't make him feel better, nor did it let him forget how far he'd come and how much he'd lost. It let him remember the stories he'd heard about his father—how James Potter had been strong and proud, how he had considered it the height of dishonor to doubt a friend, how he had done the most unforgivable thing of all: save Snape's life. It let him believe that there was more to James than the arrogant, judgmental prat, even if Harry would never get to see it.

He laughed because it wasn't worth the scream that welled up in his throat, nor the tears that burned just behind his eyes.

And when he had bitterly chuckled the last of it, he heard gentle, soothing humming. His shoulders sagged and his eyes fluttered closed, exhausted by the effort of keeping them open. Painfully, he dredged up the barest of smiles—just the smallest twitch of the lips. "Thanks, Hogwarts," he murmured, and he felt her emotions well up in the tune of her song.

It was a long time before he moved.

_**Dee-ee-ee-ee-ee Dyee-Dyee-Iy Dy-ee-oh-Dy-ee-ee**_

In the Great Hall, at lunch, Harry deliberately plopped down next to Ginny, who turned to him and smiled—and out of the corner of his eye, Harry could have sworn he saw Hermione looking distinctly self-satisfied.

"So," he said, "Who's up for Quidditch this afternoon?"

"Harry, it's raining!" Ginny protested, laughing a little, and Harry obligingly looked up. Water was, indeed pouring down in great torrents.

"Oh. So it is. You want to play anyway?"

Ginny flung a fork full of mashed potatoes at his face and Harry raised his plate to catch the gooey mass, but before he could say anything, Dumbledore rose to his feet and called for silence. The hall accommodatingly hushed.

"My sincerest thanks, all of you, your attention is greatly appreciated. On to the matters of business: it is my dearest regret to inform you today was Professor Radon's last day within our cheery halls."

Radon ceremoniously stood and bended in a deep, prestigious bow. Word had traveled quickly, so this was a surprise to no one; however, there were still cheers and groans plentiful enough to warrant Dumbledore to raise a hand to quiet them.

"He has been called away to field work," Dumbledore continued, "and so will not be returning for some time yet, and I am certain that we will all miss him dearly. That said, it is with no small amount of joy that I present to you the wonderful, scholarly Mrs. Lois, who will have the honor of taking over his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes!"

There was a polite spatter of applause, and Harry carefully appraised the elderly, white-haired woman who stood stiffly and nodded, just the once, in a way that might be construed as a bow. She was pale and wrinkled, tense and prim, dressed in immaculate but dull dress robes, and folding her hands limply on her lap as she daintily sat down again.

"Please, make her feel at home in our lovely halls. I have also been awarded the great pleasure of announcing that Professor Radon's Imperius Defense classes will be taken over by none other than our very own Mr.'s Severus Snape and Harry Potter!"

And the hall erupted in cheers, even though Harry was certain everyone had already known ahead of time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape gracefully rise and bow, and hastened to do the same. It was all he could do to keep the flush off his cheeks, and he sat down again as soon as possible.

_**Dee-um Dy-iy-iy-um Diddili-Iy-um-de-dum**_


	19. But Grin Anyway

-grins-

Okay, okay, so it's taken me a while... But I've been trying! (Especially during public speaking class--great opportunity for being creative and all that)

Thanks, as usual, to all of my reviewers: **Royari **(thanks for being simultaneously understanding and encouraging!) Embers of Inspiration(inspiration did find me, but it sure took its own sweet time!), Dracco (haha, thought you might like it), The Feral Candy Cane (thank you so much~that's quite a compliment!), Cathycalamitous (:D), hypercell(take two is coming slowly but surely... at least I have this one updated!) ellesra(ooh, i never even thought of that... :D) lilyre(thank you!), callie258(thanks!) Gives You Hell (third time? really? Wow! thanks! No, I haven't explained about Peter yet, but I will, and I really like your new penname!) awaylaughingonafastcamel,(thank you!) OCDbookworm (according to my story, Harry isn't actually a parselmouth anymore--that died along with the horcrux in him, but yes, that would have been cool), Nosi (haha, yeah, Ginny's plan backfired, and it does get worse this chapter... But I completely agree about Harry being all resilient -hence the name of the chapter- and I think I eventually got the right balance of moping and moving on--he did, after all, just get abandoned by his father and godfather, so there had to be some moping. I'm glad you like it, and, well, Ta-Da!), nightwing27(thanks for all the reviews!) Lilah09(thank you!) , Zhang Sizheng (you might think that's a backhanded compliment, but 1, that's what I was aiming for over the course of writing, and 2, you're not the first to comment. So, honestly, that was exactly what I want to hear! Thank you!), and **Maye-Girl** (OKAY! I DID! And I have been working a lot on Take Two. It's just really, really frustrating me because I can't get it right)

enjoy!

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 19**

**XXXX But Grin Anyway XXXX**

By the time they all retired to the common room, Harry couldn't help but feel as though several years had passed over the course of just that day. His duels with Ron were mere hazy memories, and James and Remus's argument a part of the distant past, his reconciliation with Ginny had occurred ages before, just another portion of a dizzying flurry of events.

But now he could stop and breathe.

Ginny was idly stroking his hair, and he drowsily admired the way the flickering fire spilled light across her own flaming red hair, dancing up and down the individual strands as if in a ceremonial ritual of some kind.

_BANG!!_

Harry flew to his feet, going for his wand, but Ginny tugged him back down and leaned in comfortably against his shoulder.

It was suddenly loud, too, but neither angry nor particularly threatening, and Harry blinked rapidly against the tiredness.

Everything was hazy, and swam in and out of focus in odd, disconnected pieces, as if they would dive and resurface in a sea of bizarrely swirling colors, and it was only through sheer strength of will that he could put together any semblance of a picture.

There was bright red, blazing in the warm glow of the fire as if it, too, had gone up in flames; tall, strong, and gangly, with a splash of freckles—Ron. Laughing raucously and undoubtedly happy.

Harry blinked twice, rapidly, and strained his eyes, and when he caught sight of bushy brown hair, it took him only a moment to identify its owner as Hermione. Her eyebrows were singed; there was soot on her cheek. A curse? No, she was laughing too, judging by the way her mouth moved, and if he filtered through the din of the room, he could even make out the sound of her laugh.

A blond figure rolled around wildly on the floor and clutched her stomach with howls of laughter.

And—was that Neville?—no, it was a girl, a short, round-faced girl, but the expression she wore was just like Neville's: shy, sheepish, embarrassed. She, too, was covered in soot.

He blinked again, and at last the room in its entirety swam into focus. They were all playing exploding snap, he recalled with a jolt, and suddenly everything made sense, so he settled back into the cushions of the soft, warm couch and closed his eyes.

His stomach growled loudly.

Ginny raised her head, slowly, and smiled up at him. "Was it just me, or did that sound suspiciously like an invite to the kitchens?" she asked playfully, and Harry grunted non-committally, even as his empty stomach twisted painfully, gnawing at him.

She eyed him intently, then asked, "Or are you going up to bed? You look awfully tired."

Tempted though he was, Harry glanced at the clock and, seeing that it was only quarter past eight, shook his head and ran a tired hand over his face. "Too early to be this tired. Some food might to me a world of good, and if it doesn't, I can hit the sack later."

He rose unsteadily to his feet and steadied himself on the arm of the couch as the world spun. Ginny grabbed his arm and helped guide him out of the room, waving cheerfully goodbye to the others.

Harry allowed Ginny to drag him towards the kitchens, ducking into the shadows and grinning at one another whenever they thought they heard a teacher up ahead.

It wasn't until they were within a stone's throw of the kitchen doors that Harry heard any real proof that they weren't the only ones out that night, and what he heard wiped out any and all traces of exhaustion.

A dark, furious voice, shouting mingled swear words and hexes, shattered the silence of the halls, but was answered only by amused laughter. Then, a taunting, vicious voice: "Such a dirty mouth, Snivillus—_Scourgefy!" _Sputtering and more laughter; Harry sucked in air violently, forcing blood to his brain and fighting dizziness. Another mocking voice said, "So, what d'ya think, Padfoot? Gold skin and red hair? Or the other way around?"

At that moment, Ginny broke into a run towards the voices, her sudden movement jolting Harry out of his stupor and he sprinted after her, his wand held out. _"Protego!" _He yelled without slowing his pace as soon as he was close enough, then he burst into the fray and skidded to a halt in the middle of it.

Snape was sprawled across the ground, face black with rage, and looking very much the worse for wear. Soapsuds pooled across his chest and onto the floor, their tiny pink bubbles still dribbling out the side of his mouth, but he didn't move to wipe them away; his skin was covered in angry red boils; his hair saturated with some sort of thick black ooze.

Fortunately, it seemed that humiliation was the worst of his ailments, and he scrambled hurriedly to his feet and fetched his wand quickly enough. Satisfied, Harry turned his attention to the bullies

The first thing Harry noticed was that Remus was missing, so the remaining Marauders must have decided that it wouldn't hurt Remus if he didn't know what was going on.

His expression darkened, and as his gaze locked onto James's, it was a moment before something else began to sink in to his consciousness: James was shaking.

Harry blinked, and in an empty, distantly horrified way felt his anger melt into confusion. James was, undoubtedly, trembling, and his eyes were wide with something that might even be construed as fear. Sirius was tense and poised for a fight, his eyes unreadable, but his weight was on the balls of his feet, as if he might run at any moment. Pettigrew was a pathetic, quivering mess, a younger version of the spineless, blubbering figure in the Shreiking Shack that he would become so many years later.

They were afraid of him.

It occurred to him that only a short time before, this thought would have been unbearable—painful, even. Now, however, it was with a lurid satisfaction that he stared them down. They deserved it, pathetic, cowering bullies that they were.

Deliberately and fully aware that five sets of eyes were trained on him, Harry summoned James, Sirius, and Pettigrew's wands. He fingered them for a moment, sorely tempted to snap them in half, then handed them to Ginny.

"Take the Marauders back to Gryffindor Tower, Ginny," he instructed her, "They can have their wands back when you get there, but I don't think we need anymore bullying tonight."

"What?!" James burst out, then his eyes widened and—almost comically—he slapped a hand over his mouth as if terrified of a reprisal. Pettigrew, however, was too caught up in his terror to hold any such thing back.

"No! You can't! We don't know who else is out tonight—what if we stumble across some slimy Slytherins, or—"

His words died in his throat as Harry glowered at him. "I'm sure you'll make it back alive. Now go!"

"Bring me back some sweets, will you, Harry?" Ginny called over her shoulder as she started herding James, Sirius, and Pettigrew away, "Seeing as you're making me do all the dirty work?"

Feeling the brunt of his anger melt away as she grinned back at him, holding the wands threateningly at the Marauders' backs, Harry couldn't help but smile a little despite himself and promised, watching as the four of them disappeared down the corridor and around the corner.

When they were gone and the sound of their footsteps had faded, the silence of the corridor weighed heavily on him, and a wave of restless panic washed over him. For a moment, he was tempted to call them back, to laugh and say it was only a joke. To say that the expressions on their faces were just too priceless to stop.

He felt light headed—Was it a spell that made him feel like he might drift away at any moment, or just his utter tiredness and panicked confusion? Logic, though muddled, told him it was the latter, that the world only felt like it was swaying.

His thoughts continued to whirl about in his head: Ginny would give them back their wands, and they could all laugh about it.... But, he thought with a sinking feeling, they probably wouldn't think it was funny. They had already established that they didn't like Harry's jokes.

He started to sway back and forth, ever so slightly, but he couldn't seem to keep steady.

Because he knew that he wouldn't call back the Marauders... Wouldn't take the first steps in repairing the lost friendship. Whoever they might become in the future, the four teenagers had lost his respect, and he had no reason to bend over backwards for them. Because he didn't need them.

He was back at Hogwarts, a Hogwarts who cared for him, a Hogwarts where Voldemort didn't even know he existed.

Ginny, Hermione, and Ron were there and on his side.

Who cared about four pathetic, stupid bullies?

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, drew a deep breath, and, feeling his exhaustion return full force, turned towards Snape, who was watching him intently, half-hidden in the shadows.

"You gave them back their wands," Snape observed now that Harry was facing him, and his voice was quiet, dry, and a little bitter, his beady black eyes as inscrutable as ever. As Harry had expected, Snape had already countered the effects of the Marauders' spells, so the soapsuds, boils, and such were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah."

"If I were you, I'd have snapped them."

"I wouldn't blame you," he met Snape's gaze firmly, reading the flash of an inscrutable emotion—shock, perhaps? amusement?—that flitted through his dark eyes. "I was tempted, myself, but thought that getting mixed up with law and stuff would be more trouble than it was worth."

"Yes, there is that," Snape responded, and Harry couldn't help but feel triumphant—hidden in the shadows though his companion was, he swore that Snape was smiling, just a little. "Legal consequences do tend to become bothersome now and again."

Harry grinned. "That's for sure. Look, I don't know about you, but I'm out in search of some treacle tart and butterbeer. Are you coming?"

Snape didn't answer right away, and for a moment Harry feared that he'd moved to fast, that their odd, tentative friendship hadn't yet reached the point where they could chat over sweets and butterbeer, but then Snape deliberately withdrew from his cloak a pocket watch and, after checking it, nodded curtly and said, "I think I have time to spare. To the kitchens?"

"To the kitchens," Harry agreed. It was a funny thing, but he couldn't help but feel there was a certain significance in the way that Snape gestured for Harry to lead the way.

It couldn't possibly have meant that he considered Harry his leader, but it may have implied a certain respect, a gratitude for saving him from the Marauders—Harry couldn't imagine Snape being any more vocal than this with his thanks.

Or perhaps the motion may have been of a placating sort, to make clear that Snape was no longer fighting for the upper hand, as the dark, pale-faced teenager had often done in their chance encounters or during the Imperius defense lessons. This may be his way of considering the two of them to be equals, that they could pick and choose their battles over more important matters.

On the other hand, the only meaning may be that Snape did not trust Harry at all, and had no wish to expose his back to him.

Maybe Snape just didn't know the way to the kitchens, and this was his way of tactically not admitting it.

Of course, it was entirely possible that the gesture was completely innocent and indicated nothing at all.

Either way, Harry turned to lead, then tickled the pear and let the two of them in. Instantly, cheery house elves swarmed around them, greeting them enthusiastically and offering all sorts of goodies.

"Would sirs like a cup of tea?"

"Good evening, sirs! If you might try Giddy's pumpkin pie, sirs, for it is a favorite of the headmaster's!"

"Anything we can get you, sirs, anything at all!"

Harry couldn't help but grin at them all, at their bright cheerfulness and willingness to help, because whatever Hermione said, however miserable some cases of house elf slavery may be, these little creatures obviously took a lot of pride and pleasure in their work.

"It's good to see you all, as well!" He called loudly, laughing a little as their faces lit up even more. "Now, Giddy, that pumpkin pie you mentioned sounds fantastic, and I would love some tea—with caffeine, if you don't mind—and maybe some treacle tart, if you've any left over?" At once, the kitchens bustled into activity, as a handful of house elves assigned themselves to each task, the rest waiting on hand for Snape's order.

"So, Snape, what'll it be?"

"I'll have butterbeer," he said, curtly addressing the house elves, who immediately jumped and hurried to do so. Then he turned to Harry. "And... it's Severus. You can call me Severus."

Harry froze, again trying to read into the motives and intentions behind the invitation. Was this an honest olive-branch truce, or was it designed to put Harry at ease, allow him to slip up? If it was the former—Why? If it was the latter—What did Harry have that Snape wanted?

Or were they really becoming friends?

"Certainly," he responded, "But only if you call me Harry."

Presently, the house elves returned with their treats, bowing and laying pumpkin pie, tea, treacle tarts, and butterbeer out on the table like a feast. Harry thanked them, watching as they retreated, their expressions simultaneously happy and bashful.

He shook his head. "I've really got to do something about them," he muttered to himself, and Snape looked up.

"Come again?"

"The house elves," he explained. "They're such wonderful, cheerful little fellows... But you wouldn't believe how often they're abused or manipulated. Not these ones, certainly, but there are a number out there who aren't so lucky. They should have some sort of protection, at least."

Snape nodded noncommittally, sipping his butterbeer. "So you've adopted them as your charity case?"

"Hermione did, actually," Harry answered, "But she's got a point. I knew one who saved my life—Merlin knows I owe him—and got stabbed for it. Died then and there."

"Brave house elf."

Harry glanced at him, pausing before he took a bite of pie, his fork suspended in midair. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"

Harry could have sworn he saw Snape's lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile. "That was a compliment. The insult—where I say how utterly stupid the thing must have been, saving _you _of all people—is still on its way."

Harry laughed. And the strangest thing was that he could have sworn that, for a moment, Snape had laughed, too.

But then, he was so tired he could have imagined it all together.

_**Dee-Dum-Dee-Di-umum-um**_

The time flew past, until at last Snape again checked his pocket watch and declared that he had somewhere to be, so Harry bid him good bye and they went their separate ways, Harry returning to the Gryffindor common room.

"Hey, you're back!" Ginny greeted when she caught sight of him, jumping to her feet. Then she noticed what he was holding. "What's all that?"

"This," Harry said, dumping an assortment of wrapped sweets onto one of the tables, "Is cherry pie, chocolate cake, and whatever else the House Elves thought a teenage girl might mean when she asks someone to bring her back some sweets."

Ginny laughed, starting to sort through them and choosing at length a tin full of chocolate-covered strawberries. "A little over-enthusiastic, weren't they?"

"What else is new?"

"Hmm, lemme think. Hermione's studying, Ron's beating someone at chess, and Lily's yelling at James because he asked her to go out with him."

"All sorts of exciting new developments." Harry yawned. "You know, Ginny, I give up on the whole staying awake thing. I'm going to bed."

"Good night," she murmured, kissing him briefly.

Harry grinned at her. "Come with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow, after we get Hermione off our back about finishing homework?"

"Of course."

He climbed the stairs and, just before entering the dorm, looked out one last time over the common room. It was Michelle that Ron was playing at chess, and if Harry were to judge by Ron's expression, she had just made a move that would probably cost her the game. Hermione was indeed surrounded by textbooks, but she wasn't looking at them—she was grinning to herself as she watched Ron. Ginny was looking on in amusement as Lily tore into James, but Harry wasn't listening to the words. Instead, he had just caught Sirius's eye from across the room, and wasn't sure what to make of the resentfulness that he saw in his future godfather's expression.

_**Doo-di-Doo-Di-Dy-Dum-Diddil-Dum**_

"Today's lesson," Snape began coolly when the bell rang signaling the beginning of Imperius Defense class a few days later, his voice quiet and to the point, a far cry from the scowling, vicious professor he would become in the future, "Is in the form of a debate. We will ask a question on a controversial issue, and you are required to formulate an opinion, provide support for it, and present your ideas to the class. After a point is made, the others have the opportunity to negate or affirm it, and back and forth it goes.

"The intention of this exercise is, of course, to cultivate logic and stubbornness at the same time, to let you formulate your own decisions and either stick to them or change them, and to fight the opposite side using logic rather than passion. Are there any questions?"

"Just so you know," Harry added from the back, and everyone turned to look at him, "These debates are the only classes where you will be allowed to say things like _Mudblood_, _inbred creeps_, and _crackpot old codger_ without getting a detention."

Immediately, whispers broke out at this proclamation, and Harry was getting several strange looks, but he ignored them and nodded to Snape.

Snape inclined his head. "The question is: Are wizards better than muggles? Is our magic a blessing or a curse? Would the world be better off without magic? Without muggles?"

The whispering was back, indignant, confused, and louder than before, but the only thing Snape said was, "Think it through. We start in five minutes."

The next five minutes seem to crawl by painfully slowly, and Harry couldn't help but check his watch every few seconds. More to give himself something to do than anything else, he walked around the room, looking on as people scribbled down notes (or pretended to) and judging expressions to see if anybody would declare that the world would be better off without magic.

Around the room, some people looked similarly impatient, tapping their feet or drumming their fingers on their desks, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Others exuded confidence, often bordering arrogance, as they glanced haughtily around the room, confident that their arguments would win over their smarter classmates. A few seemed bored—any notes they had taken were for show, and were rarely thought out at all—and wearily checked the time as if thinking it would be a long class. Some students were hard at work, while some were whispering ideas to their neighbors.

At last, the five minutes were up, and Harry called for everyone's attention. "Once again, the question is, basically, is magic good or bad, are we better off with it or without it, are we better or worse off than muggles?"

There was a moment of expectant silence, then he continued, "So, to begin, how many of you think that wizards are better than muggles?"

Almost half of the class raised their hands, though some did so confidently and others hesitantly, and nearly everyone was looking around to see how other people voted. Not unexpectedly, most Slytherin's sided with this argument, but they were not alone—a number of people from every house raised their hands as well.

Hands came down as Harry asked, "Muggles are better than wizards?"

There was silence—no one so much as twitched—until Hermione stood up, with a deliberateness that almost bordered on defiance, and said in a loud, clear voice, as much for the benefit of the class as her own, "Do you mean _better _as in actually being better—better people, stronger, more powerful, smarter, kinder, etc.,—or do you mean better off, as in a muggle's life is easier, more luxurious, and so on?"

"Actually being better," Harry answered, trying not to smile and fully aware that around the room, people were watching the two of them intently, "But if you have a point to make about either side being better off, we can bring that up later."

Satisfied, Hermione smiled and sat back down.

When he saw that there were no other comments, Harry continued. "Muggles and Wizards are equal?"

Hands flew up around the room, mostly those of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, though there was a healthy number of Slytherins and Ravenclaws among them as well.

Presently, Snape took control. "Daniel Mechemel, would you care to begin the discussion?"

Daniel, a stocky sixth year Ravenclaw stood, clutching his notes and staring imperiously at the class. Harry couldn't remember which way he had voted, but he had a solid foot of parchment covered in scribbled notes, so either way he was prepared to start.

Harry and Snape had discussed this beforehand and had agreed, at much length, to begin with a Ravenclaw, because they would get the discussion rolling with strongly supported arguments, but wouldn't cause the class to jump straight into a war zone, as would probably happen if a Gryffindor or Slytherin began the debate.

"Wizards are, without a doubt, better than muggles for several reasons," Daniel began, speaking briskly, "but they can all be summed up in saying that, in any head to head competition, the wizard will always come out on top."

As Harry glanced around the room, he noted that expressions ranged widely: Lily raised an aloof eyebrow, a Hufflepuff fifth year smiled in smug satisfaction and approval, Hermione's eyes glinted with anticipation as she waited to challenge Daniel Mechemel, and a fellow Ravenclaw was looking at him with an expression akin to pity.

"A fight, for instance," Daniel said, staring boldly into each person's eyes, daring them to contradict him—and a number of them certainly will, given the chance, Harry mused to himself. "Sure, muggles have things called guns, which are like wands only they can only hurt or kill people, and they have bombs, which cause explosions and can be damaging. They have knives and flame throwers and all sorts of other weapons... But anything that they can do, we can do better, stronger, with more damage, with just our wands. We can nullify the effects of any weapon they have with a well-placed shield charm, counter any damage with healing spells, and curse them far worse than they could us with their weapons."

Only a few people were already swayed to Daniel's side, but those who had begun believing that wizards were superior to muggles were looking vindictively at anyone who believed differently, as if they thought this was an irrefutable argument.

"Similarly," Daniel continued, "Muggles are indubitably inferior to wizards in terms of intelligence—you can't deny that they rarely seem to notice anything. The Knight Bus, for instance, which is ever present on their streets but is never noticed, or any of our warded homes that hide between number 14 and 16, but no muggle ever wonders why there isn't a 15. Silliest of all, of course, are those few intelligent Muggles who see that something is off, but chalk it up to their imaginations, or when they do voice what they've seen, are condemned as lunatics. Does this sound like an intelligent race of people to you?"

These words were met with varying amounts of approval and contempt, and Snape stood up, motioning for Daniel to take his seat, thought the sixth year was only half-way through his notes.

"Now if we could hear from the opposing view," Snape said, "Hermione Granger, if you would come up..."

They had discussed this, too—that whoever looked the most eager to refute the first person's claims would be called up second, because they would probably have the most vehement of responses rather than the most logical... Harry should have warned Snape that Hermione tended to be both vehement _and _logical.

All the same, he settled in to watch the show.

"If there's one thing I've learned since I first found out that magic existed," Hermione began, abandoning her notes and boring into each teenager with a defiant, determined countenance, "It's that witches and wizards are tend to be _unbelievably _stupid..."

_**Di-i-um-Dee-Di-i-um-Dee-Dum**_

The bell rang in the midst of a heated, but controlled, debate, and once both Harry and Snape had promised they would continue next class, the students filed out of the room.

When the classroom was finally empty, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and said, "Sna—Severus, I know you have a free period now, but I'll be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts if I stick around to chat, so do you want to meet at the kitchens tonight at eight? I think this whole debate-thing is going to take more planning than we thought."

Snape's eyes bore into him, calculating. "Tomorrow night," he said at last, "I've already got plans tonight."

With that, the pale, greasy-haired teenager brushed past him and out the door, leaving Harry to smile lightly to himself and wonder, not for the first time, whether Snape's motives were as innocent and simple as they were meant to seem.

He shook his head, put out the lights, and shut the door behind him, heading towards Defense.

He caught up with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Lily, Cassie, Michelle, and Morganie a few hundred meters away, where they had stopped to wait for him while giving him some privacy to talk to Snape. Lily, he saw, was biting her lip and giving him sidelong glances, teetering as if she might say something to him, but she kept quiet, even as Hermione and the others remarked on how well the lesson seemed to have gone.

By the time they reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry had put it out of his mind.

The eight of them claimed seats near the back of the room, because, although he could see that Hermione would have preferred to be in the front so she could hear and see better, Harry felt more comfortable—considering it was the first day with a new, unknown teacher—when he knew that his back was to the wall, and once he sat down, the others arranged around him.

The classroom was blandly furnished, with a large, dark cherry bookshelf spanning the length of an entire wall, the usual assortment of desks, and several bouquets of colorful flowers dotting each surface in the room and giving Harry the unique feeling of being in a nursing home or hospital room.

At precisely the moment that the bell rang, Professor Lois stepped in from her adjacent office and called roll, looking almost ancient as Harry took in her wispy white hair, deep wrinkles, and faded dress robes that were both flowery and lacy. When she spoke, her voice was as faded as her clothes, and distinctly raspy, as if she'd yelled too much and now couldn't formulate a proper sound at all.

"Now class," she rasped, "Take out your textbooks and turn to page 132 and begin reading chapter ten, if you please."

Harry wearily met Hermione's eyes as they, and the entire class around them, did as she asked, but as soon as books were open, Professor Lois abruptly started hacking and spitting, rapping her hands on her desk.

"Is she—alright?" Hermione whispered hesitantly, but Harry shook his head, as bewildered as she was by the old woman's convulsions.

Ginny, on the other side of Harry, whispered back, "I think she's _laughing!"_

And she was—now that Harry thought to look for it, their professor's expression was clearly amused, and it was only a moment before she regained her composure and said, "I'm only joking with the lot of all you young'ins. You're here for me to teach you, not some barmy—" here she picked up the nearest copy of a textbook and squinted at the author's name— "Mitch Alburn."

The teenagers exchanged glances, some containing more mirth than others, and she mistook their expressions.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, youngins, you'll still have read Mr. Alburn for homework and whatnot, but in class, you'll get a real, live, breathing teacher.

"But, of course, in order for me to do precisely that, I'll need a little cooperation on your part. So to begin, it's important for me to know where, exactly, in the curriculum you are in. Your previous instructor," she sniffed somewhat disdainfully, "did not leave particularly detailed notes in that respect."

She peered at them all, making eye contact with each person—for everyone who wasn't paying attention, she simply stared at them until a friend poked the student and they raised their eyes to meet hers.

Then Lois picked up the attendance sheet and, squinting at it, called, "So could a Mr. Black please come up and demonstrate a nonverbal shield charm?"

Ginny nudged Harry, shoving towards him a spare bit of parchment. Glancing over it, he grinned and marked an X in one of the boxes—and the tic-tac-toe game was on.

_**Doo-oo-uu-ee-Doo-oo-uu-ee-DO-EEEEE**_

It was early evening, and Harry had just returned to the common room from a particularly pleasant walk around the lake with Ginny when James sauntered up to him.

For some strange reason, James's eyes seemed to linger on the way Harry's hand entwined with Ginny's, then flitted over Harry's face, and he looked disappointed—maybe even angry.

"Potter, Weasley," James greeted, and Ginny stiffened beside Harry—she didn't like the use of their last names—but Harry caught her eye and shook his head slightly. "We need to talk."

Harry nodded towards the nearest vacant couch and James hesitated, then sat down and waited for Harry to sit as well.

"The thing is," James said, talking faster than normal, his voice hard, "I think we need to bring new blood on to the Quidditch team. I mean, most of the team is a seventh year, right? And Bole's sixth year, and I hate to leave him, as next year's captain, with only him and Mary Moran with any experience. And clearly I can't cut myself, as I'm captain, but I think with practice, Dale—that second year Seeker, you remember him?—could get really good..."

Harry's heart sank, and he understood perfectly what James was trying to say—but that didn't mean he'd make it any easier on him.

"So what are you thinking?" He asked innocently, "You want to start up a reserve team? 'Cause I think that's a good idea, because then they can train without having so much pressure."

"Well," James said, rushing the words out, until the words all meshed together and were incomprehensible. "Ithinkmaybethextrapressurewillhelp."

"Come again?" Ginny said brightly, though there was something almost feral in her eyes. "I didn't catch that."

James closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, speaking slowly and clearly this time, "I think the added pressure will help them. You two are off the team. Just thought you should know, so you don't, you know, waste your time at practices and everything."

It was a low blow, Harry couldn't help but think as James hurriedly left, but dead on. Trying to restrict Harry's pleasures wherever James had the authority to do so. Denying him Quidditch, which might have won him so favor with the rest of the school. Doing so with valid enough reasoning that Harry couldn't go to McGonagall and complain.

He shook his head and rose to his feet, leading Ginny over to where Ron was playing Morganie at chess and Lyssa was watching avidly.

He sank into the chair just as Ron was taking one of Morganie's knights. The red head looked up, caught sight of his face, and asked, "You just get cut, too?"

Harry nodded, and Ron shot a glare across the common room, to where the Marauders were sitting. "Figures. They cut me just after you and Gin left."

"What I don't get," Lyssa said, and Harry guessed that she was too wrapped up in watching the chess game to be aware of their conversation, "Is how such a stupid, boring game is so—enthralling!"

Despite everything, Harry couldn't help but grin.


	20. The Same Old Song

Hi!

Next chapter, here we are! (It's actually finals week, so, in theory not the best time to be posting, but oh well.)

Reviewers! Awesome awesome awesome!

I tried to respond to each review individually, like I used to do, and got somewhere around half-way through them, and then I couldn't figure out which one's I'd already reviewed and which ones I hadn't. -Oops- So I figured I'd give a shout-out to everyone again. xD

xitwa74, Bagoosa. mel92 (entrancing? really? thanks!), Lorien, .twilighter, flowerypetal, Maye-Girl, Killing Curse Eyes (Thank you!), ChristinaAngel, greymoon, Royari, mdemp92, lilyre, FairyVampire, Nosi, aimael, Gives You Hell, huffle-bibin, Ellyanah, callie258, teamfred, ellesra, The Feral Candy Cane, xxStarlight Goddessxx (Glad you think I'm more original), keekers15, delyrical (kudos for catching the Mitch Alburn / Mitch Albom thing!), Mystical Magician, OCDbookworm, hypercell

Question Responses:

**How was the debate part of Imperius Defense lessons? **The idea came to me after a few discussions I had with my friends, debates I had with my parents, stories I read with persuasive passages, "come to such-and-such a college" pamphlets, and that sort of thing. The debate idea centers around the ability to manipulate words to appeal to emotions and sway someone to a certain cause. As such, it might help the students to dig deeper than immediate emotions (the blissful feeling) to get the full scope. Remember, Snape and Harry don't really have an idea what they're doing. They're grasping for ideas that might give the others some basics to work with, before they get to the in-depth, more difficult "mental-strength" exercises.

**What was Lily thinking after the Imperius lesson? **Just reflecting on her former friendship with Snape, and whether or not she should warn Harry about his two-faced, dark-arts prone nature.

**Why isn't Dumbledore more aware of what's going on? **Oh, Dumbledore is very aware. And he knows the four of them aren't really who they say they are. It's just that he doesn't manage to guess who they _really _are. But his theories sure are entertaining! Anyway, the first few chapters of **his **version of THIS EXACT STORY are posted: Forging Reality: Take Two.

**When will Forging Reality: Take Two be updated? **Don't know yet. It's proving to be awfully difficult to write. Especially since I don't know where it's going. :D

That said, ENJOY!

**Forging Reality**

**by DitzyDizzyDessy101**

**Chapter 20**

**XX The Same Old Song XX**

This time around, Harry had not missed the signs that the full moon—and the curse it brought with it—was looming ever closer.

He had caught the tired circles under Remus's eyes, the pale, splotchy appearance of his skin, the droop of his shoulders, and wondered how he could have missed the clues the month before.

And, of course, there was no missing the steaming plate of chocolate chip pancakes the morning of.

The Marauders had, and still did, ranged around their werewolf companion, measuredly, territorially, with only the slightest hint of excitement in there eyes and the air of much practice in their gait. They had done this many times before—protected their friend from prying eyes, that is—and expertly carried on conversations that drew attention away from Remus and let him slide, unnoticed, into the background. They masterfully incorporated him in their act, with questions and comments that did not require a significant amount of thought, effort, or following of the conversation. They kept up the noise—and the pranks—so no one would notice anything was off.

Harry was proud of them. Distantly, painfully, longingly, but proud all the same.

That did not mean, however, that he changed his attitude towards them. When James tripped or shoved him in the hallways, he continued on as if nothing had happened. If he witnessed a good prank, he laughed and continued on. On any occasions that he saw them bullying Snape or other Slytherins, he stepped in.

But it did make him all but impervious to their insults and degrading comments, reminded him of the men they would become, and showed him that he should not be ashamed to have looked up to them.

_**Dum-di-Dum-di-Dydle-di-Dum**_

Harry packed up his books, slung his bag over his shoulder, and joined the gaggled of teenagers as they left the classroom, the whole lot of them chatting, laughing, and celebrating the end of the day's classes. Glancing up, he caught Remus's eyes from across the room, and the sandy-haired teenager stared at him, then ducked his head to avoid his gaze.

Harry held back a sigh—for some reason, any lingering friendship with Remus had faltered and all but disappeared after the full moon, almost as if Remus was just too tired to hold up against his friends' constant dislike of Harry. He didn't press the subject, but instead allowed Remus to shuffle tiredly, painfully from the classroom without conflict, while Harry himself fell in step with Lily and Cassie. The girls grinned at him, and he allowed himself to grin back.

Together, Lily, Cassie, Morganie, Michelle, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione ventured out onto the grounds to enjoy the first snowfall of the season, and Hogwarts herself celebrated around them.

_**Dii-Dii-Do-ii-Dei-oi-doi-Dee**_

Maybe it was because of the way that Sirius had tapped his foot excitedly during Transfiguration that afternoon, or the warning, reproachful look that James had shot Sirius as he did so, or Peter's tense, anticipatory grin; maybe it was the lack of excitement, with plenty of time before the Quidditch match and nothing interesting in most of the classes; maybe it was because of James's growing restlessness over the past few weeks; or maybe it was because Harry was simply growing more accustomed to life around the Marauders; but whatever way he looked at it, Harry was hardly surprised when the Marauders pulled their next big prank.

It started normally enough, with Harry, Hermione, Ron, Cassie, and Michelle making their way down to dinner, where they were to meet up with Ginny, Lily, and Morganie.

"I'm telling you, Hermione," Ron argued from up ahead, his ears a tell-tale red, "A _P _on one test doesn't make a difference, because even if we stick around long enough to take the NEWTS, I don't think any of us are going to actually get a job until, you know, it's all over."

He had glanced backwards at Harry as he said this, and although Harry privately agreed with Ron, he thought it smarter to keep his mouth shut.

"How can you say that?" Hermione snapped, "You ought to know by now how much every little detail counts out there! What you didn't bother to study for that test just might be the deciding factor of whether you live or die someday!"

Cassie and Michelle were sniggering into their hands to keep from laughing out loud.

Ron's face twisted with fury, and he clenched the staircase railing in a tight fist as he stepped onto the first step. "Well, maybe I'd rather die '_someday'_ then waste the life I've got now studying—_Argh!"_

Suddenly Ron was falling, his expression a mixture of shock and fear, and Harry surged forward, wand out. In some distant corner of his mind, he registered that Hermione screeched, "_Ron!" _and they were both running, hearts pounding. Upon reaching the top of the staircase, however, they stopped in their tracks.

Ron was still holding onto the railing, his knuckles white as they clenched on, and it was obviously the only thing holding him up as his feet scrambled for traction where the stairs _should _have been—but the stairs had gone, and in their place was a steeply sloping platform, a wide stone slide with an insanely steep pitch, that ran into something bright and colorful.

As one, Harry and Hermione grabbed Ron's arms and hoisted him up onto solid ground. At once, the stairs reappeared, looking as innocent and sturdy as ever. Now that his mind had had a chance to catch up to the events, Harry couldn't help the distinct feeling of relief that washed over him.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Ron demanded, his face pale.

"The Marauders," Harry answered at the same time that Hermione said, "A prank."

They shared mirthless, tired smiles—Harry wondering if Hermione suddenly felt as old and burned-out as he did—and for a long moment no one moved, but then Hermione broke eye contact and explained to a bemused Ron, Cassie, and Michelle.

"I expect they must have adapted the spell that guards the girls dormitories—you remember, the one that turns the staircase into a slide if a boy tries to come up?—to affect this staircase, and probably modified it to work for all of the staircases and for girls, as well." She sighed and stared at them with serious brown eyes. "I'm sure they have tested it, too, so you wouldn't have been hurt even if you had fallen, because they spelled colorful little plastic balls to pool at the bottom. Rather like in a Muggle play place."

Michelle frowned, but her eyes were bright with curiosity. "And these colorful little plastic balls would have prevented us from getting hurt?"

Hermione nodded. "If there's enough of them, they would have."

Cassie stared down at the steps, scrutinizing them through narrowed eyes. "A prank, you say?" She said slowly and carefully, a note of climbing excitement buried just beneath the surface of her voice, and glanced sideways at Hermione in time to catch her nod. "Then—"

Hesitating for only a brief moment, she stepped down onto the stairs. Immediately, the stairs transformed, once again, into a steep slide, and she plunged downward, shrieking delightedly, and splashed into the plastic balls that waited for her. For a moment, she was submerged beneath them—they must have been over a meter deep—then she waded to her feet, laughing, and the balls popped out of existence around her.

"Come on down," she cheered with enthusiasm that Harry couldn't share, "It's loads of fun!"

Still, Harry smiled despite himself as Hermione's laughs echoed in the stairway as she slid down and Ron bravely went down backwards. Michelle, not to be outdone, did a sort of pirouette and seemingly complex ballet move before she leaped into the air, landed where the stairs ought to have been, and dropped down the slide.

Feeling like he was playing a part in a play—his smile was probably too strained, his laugh too forced, and his movements too stiff—Harry took a few steps back and began with a running start before launching himself over the edge and onto the slide.

He flew quickly down, but any chances of him lightening up and enjoying the prank abruptly dissipated, because he saw that there were no little plastic balls to welcome him.

He had only a moment for the blood to drain from his face before he impacted, slamming into the hard stone floor like a rag doll and somersaulting painfully until he came to a stop. Pain shot through his shoulder and entire left side, stars danced across his vision, and an overwhelming bitterness and exhaustion washed over him.

"_Harry!"_

Four faces swam blearily above him and he blinked hard, trying to take stock of the situation—he ached all over and his glasses had been lost when he hit the floor (had he heard them crunch?) but nothing seemed to be broken. Harry groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Michelle sighed, relieved, and a moment later someone was pushing his glasses into his hand. He put them on and, fatigued, stared back into their concerned faces.

"And I suppose," he said, fighting to keep the resentment out of his voice and more or less succeeding, "that the Marauders probably thought that was funny."

Michelle bit her lip. "Probably," she agreed, nodding after a brief pause, "But to be honest, none of us particularly care what the Marauders think—except maybe Cassie, as she's dating Peter—"

"Oh, no," Cassie protested, just a little too ardently to be entirely natural and shaking her head with vigor Harry wasn't sure was real, "Definitely not. There will be _words _if he thinks he can get away with targeting my friends like that."

"As for the rest of us, we might just take things farther than _words," _Ron said, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "You know, actual hexes and jinxes and what have you."

Accepting both that his friends were only trying to make him feel better and that the Marauders really weren't worth the attention, Harry chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. Cassie immediately grabbed his arm to steady him, but he shook her off with a small smile.

"I'm fine, Cassie. I've survived worse bumps and bruises," he reminded her, then turned, glancing down at the flights of stairs they had left to go. "So, which one of you is going to levitate me down the rest of the way?"

But Michelle and Cassie had other ideas. Each looped his arm in theirs, frog-marched him to the next staircase, and jumped—the three of them slid down together, and splashed into the pool of colorful little balls as one.

_**Dyddili-um-oi-a-Dyddlili-i-oi-i**_

_**  
**_When they arrived in the Great Hall and shared their story, Lily, Ginny, and Morganie quickly informed Harry, Hermione, Ron, Cassie, and Michelle that, though they were outraged and very much on his side, Harry was not, by any means, the only one to have a unique adaption of the prank.

As Lily slid down, for example, the staircases burst into song and the railing spat little fireworks into the air as she descended.

Snape, apparently, fell into a pool of stinksap, whilst the rest of the Slytherins landed in a pit of snakes that, although they were not venomous, still had sharp teeth that were all too willing to sink into flesh.

So Harry started to wonder if he'd been let off lightly.

_**Di-um-Dee-umdidum-Di-Dee-Di-Dum**_

"_Imperio!"_

Frank froze as the spell washed over him for what felt, to Harry, like the millionth time, his expression slackening, as it always did. But almost instantly his eyes hardened with anger and determination, his brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched.

Harry felt his hopes rising, and he knew—he _knew—_that Frank was so close to finally overthrowing the curse.

Then the light went out of Frank's eyes and the fight left his face as the teenager slumped, surrendered, and started cartwheeling. Snape lifted his wand, breaking the curse, and Frank shook his head to cast off the lingering peacefulness and confusion.

Once again, Frank looked frustrated and disappointed, but far from defeated. He set his shoulders, clenched his fists, and growled, "Again."

It was almost time for the regular Imperius-defense lessons to start, so the other students were already starting to enter the classroom and take their seats, but Snape obligingly raised his wand. "_Imperio!"_

As usual, all traces of emotion wiped off of Frank's face, leaving him looking happy and peaceful, but then his entire countenance tensed as he began to fight. Harry held his breath, hoping that this time, Frank would win.

Then Frank's will broke and he gave in to the curse, twirling on the spot like a clumsy ballerina. The spell lifted, and Frank again shook off the effects of the curse and straightened, preparing to face the curse again.

"No," Snape said, "Longbottom, you're close, but not close enough that _one more time_ will change anything. Keep doing those exercises we showed you, and we'll try again next week."

For a moment, Frank looked ready to argue, but then he nodded.

"That goes for you two, as well," Snape said, addressing the other two seventh years, both of them Hufflepuffs, who were also extremely close to overthrowing the curse and had joined Frank in the additional lessons.

He might have imagined it, Harry mused, but he could have sworn that as the three exhausted seventh years trudged wearily from the room, a number of the other students—not all by any means, but some of them—looked almost awed.

He shook the feeling off—that wasn't something to be dealt with now, at any rate—and took charge of the class.

"Alright, everyone, as you know, today we will be continuing last week's debate, by popular demand. So would Stokely Daniels come up and tell us his opinion on whether magic is a curse or a blessing?"

Stokely Daniels was a fifth year Hufflepuff, thin and wiry, but he flashed a Lockhart-worthy smile at the other students. When he spoke, it was casually, charmingly, and confidently—a handful of teenagers, most of them girls, were won over before he had finished the first sentence.

"The thing about Muggles," he began, "Is that, even without magic, they've managed to create this thriving, vibrant community, with loads of different cultures that are unique and fascinating, all around the world. The Muggles in Africa are way different from those in London, for example, which are different from those in, say, Mexico." Stokely Daniels again flashed a charming smile and began pacing as he talked. "But it's a good different, and you can't label them—any of them—because the Muggles have somehow managed to cultivate and grow something that wizards haven't: a blend of individuality, creativity, communication, innovation, and, above all, unity."

He paused, staring out at his classmates with both passion and enthusiasm; Harry had to admit that the effect was good and that a large portion of the students were starting to be affected by his words—Here, eyes were narrowing in concentration; there, a mouth was dropping open in disbelief; presently, a head was tilting to the side in consideration.

_Were they all so easily swayed?_

"Looking around us, Wizards haven't achieved that—any of it. Sure, we've managed to peacefully coincide with the other Wizarding nations, and with the Goblins and House Elves and Centaurs and what have you... But we do it by _ignoring_ them, or dominating over them."

Looking around, Harry could see the doubt in some of their eyes—a handful of the teenagers who had held only contempt for the Muggles were starting to doubt even that steadfast belief. A Slytherin girl was frowning and biting her lip, pouring over what Stokely had said, and a Ravenclaw boy was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Not so with the Muggles—no, they blend it all together. They take one person's talents and use them to compliment another's, one nation's culture to build up another's.

"Do you get what I'm saying? These Muggles, these so-called _inferior_ people, have managed something that us Wizards haven't. Magic _clearly_ hasn't helped us at all."

Stokely Daniels flashed another grin at his captive audience and strode confidently back to his seat.

Harry rose to his feet.

"Before we go on," he started, then grinned and spoke louder over the groans that had erupted, "I'd like those of you who agree with Daniels or even considered that Daniels might be right—and there are a lot of you—to think about _why. _What did he say that convinced you?"

Two sixth year Ravenclaws frowned, looking troubled, but otherwise Harry didn't think anyone had understood, so he plowed on.

"What, exactly, did he say? All I heard was that Muggles have created a richer, better culture and society than Wizards, and loads of fancy words and confidence to back it up. No evidence or proof, no stories or real information, just a more persuasive selection of words to say that, in his opinion, the Muggle world is better. In fact, almost everywhere in his speech you could have switched the words _Muggle _with _Wizard _and it would have been just as convincing."

He let them pour over that for a moment, then called on Gwendolen Iden to carry on the debate.

It wasn't until half-way through class that another speaker caught Harry's attention. The speaker, a shy Muggleborn Ravenclaw, had pages upon pages of notes, but hardly looked at them at all. Instead, the short, pixie-like girl, Karissa Adams, leveled the class with a hardened, determined expression and spoke with fiery enthusiasm, though she had a habit of blushing embarrassedly and ducking her head at random moments.

"Every year, all the eleven year old kids around the world are evaluated, tested, and measured," she began, her voice quiet and hesitant but her eyes steeled. "A lucky number of them are gifted and special. They go on to great schools where they learn things that are truly magical, things that allow them to learn and grow and shape the world around them, to understand all about this fantastic world that we live in, to become a part of a rich and diverse culture, to do something great with their lives."

Around the room, there were a few raised eyebrows, a few smug looks, but most looked on with polite interest. Very few, Harry noted with some level of satisfaction, were not paying attention. Karissa's lips turned upwards in a small, private smirk, and she went on. "The unlucky few, however, who are not so special, are cursed with having enough magic in their blood to go to Hogwarts or Beautbatons or Durmstang, or any other magical school out there. They–_us–_are the ones to be pitied."

The reaction, of course, was instantaneous. A Slytherin's satisfied smile abruptly fell; Hermione leaned forward, interested; two Hufflepuffs exchanged looks that said, quite plainly, that they though Karissa Adams ought to have a high-security, long-term room booked in St. Mungo's. She pressed onward.

"Consider it–what have we learned since our Sorting day that will help us to become good citizens or positive influences in society? How to turn frogs into teacups? Create fire or water with the wave of a wand? Learn about kneazles and nifflers? Learn to play fair and get along with one another?"

He was beginning to see where this was going, though he was paying more attention to the students in the audience—few expressions had changed since the bombshell a minute before, but a handful here and there seemed to be considering her words.

"We know magic tricks and the bare essentials of how to live in a society," Karissa said, a light blush coloring her cheeks, and her words sped up in her nervousness. "Not so with the Muggles–they can learn everything there is to know about how to hold their own in the world, how to have and use power effectively... whatever they need to know. In primary school–the ones most of us went to, way back when–the students are taught how to get along, how to coincide with one another. They learn the building blocks for what's to come–about reading and writing, math and science, and, most importantly, the world around them. Other countries, other people, other lifestyles."

Karissa's voice had gained a little confidence, Harry thought, but it was her words that made a difference. Already, Stokely Daniels was nodding in agreement and looking pleased, while anti-Muggle Andrea Myton was biting her lip, looking vaguely torn.

"Then, in middle schools, the first segment of schooling that all of us missed out on, they continue to learn, proving that we haven't absorbed all that the Muggle world has to offer. They get farther in mathematics, learning more complex ideas and strategies and numbers, learning how to use numbers to solve problems rather than recite information, learning how to portray and predict and puzzle things out. In English, they learn about proper structure, how to convey ideas and opinions on paper, how to sway people to their arguments when their only weapon is a pen–which is a much-improved quill, for those of you purebloods who don't know. In science they learn about everything from outer space to the tiny little cells that make up all living creatures. They take art classes and music classes and gym classes, play sports and get active in ways that very few wizards do.

"Most of all, they learn how to use their brains to solve problems, and to use their talents to their full potential."

"Then, in high school, they learn even more, going into greater depth in each of their classes and picking up new ones along the way. They learn what causes things to explode or catch fire or burn or melt; why some objects, like sugar, disappear in water while others, like sand, don't, and how to predict which ones will or will not; they learn how to get energy out of water or metal or any other object, and how to tell which will store the most and be the most useful.

"They learn about human bodies and why they work the way they do, and about music, and art, and history.

"They learn from history's mistakes about how to solve problems–how to prevent a World War Three, what will help the economy and what will make it worse, and what toes can be stepped on before a war starts.

"They learn about the government and economy, psychology and sociology, home economics and health.

"In short, they learn what it will take for them to take care of themselves, other people, and the entire world, should any of them be that ambitious.

Karissa Adams was blushing again, but Harry didn't know why–he thought she was doing remarkably well. Her logic was undeniable, her words nearly impossible to refute, and already much of the class, even those who opposed Muggles, were starting to be swayed to her side of the argument. Around the room, eyes were narrowed in thought, mouths frowning, pens tapping, heads nodding, and so on as students started to consider what she was saying.

There were, however, a good many that were steadfastly unconvinced. Evan Rosier, for example, looked murderous, and Harry knew that he would one day become a Death Eater and take out a piece of Mad-Eye Moody's nose, and Rodulphus Lestrange, who Harry thought was probably already a Death Eater, seemed to be threatening any of his companions who looked willing to switch sides. A Ravenclaw was staring skeptically at Karissa Adams, as if he had evidence against what she was saying, and a Gryffindor fifth year was furiously scribbling down counter-arguments.

Karissa, however, plunged on. "Then, as if that wasn't enough, most go on to universities, where they study even more, this time more specialized towards whatever they want to go into. There they learn more about independence, responsibility, and freedom.

"Then they either study more or get full time jobs, finally ready to go out into the world and as fully prepared as the Muggles can possibly make them. And, if nothing else, anyone who puts an effort into all those years of schooling will now have an appreciation for the way the world works, the way people think and interact, and the way societies as a whole act. If they want to go into medicine or politics or teaching, into offices or technology or advertising, into writing or art or inventing, they'll be prepared and ready to hold their own.

"Something tells me that that–_any _of that–is worth considerably more than knowing how to change a toad into a teacup or how to escape a grindlelow. No Muggle in their right mind would consent to be governed, let alone ruled, by anyone who has as little education as wizards and witches, and quite frankly, despite our magical prowess, there is nothing we could do to force them. Tell me, what would you do facing row after row after row of troops? Tanks? Missiles? The air force? What _could _you do?"

For a moment, Karissa stared out at them bravely, then she blushed and made a mad dash for her seat. She put her head down immediately, unwilling to see people's reactions. For a moment, the class seemed stunned, but then James and Sirius stood up and applauded, followed quickly by Remus and Peter, then Cassie, a Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws, until well over half of the class was cheering for her.

"Very good argument," Harry said, once the noise had quieted, "But Joseph Radamancher looks like he's found some holes in your logic. Joseph, did you want to come up?"

Joseph Radamancher, a fifth year Gryffindor, nodded, gathered his papers, and crossed to the front of the room, neatly dodging James's spit ball as he did so.

"To be honest," he said, "I think it's pathetic that the Muggle education system is so advanced, so

impressive, but so many Muggles _still_ manage to turn out so poorly. To be honest, just looking at the warning labels and directions on their products is _proof _of the average Muggle's stupidity. For example, I've seen cans of food that warn, '_Caution: Food will be hot after heating.' _No duh, right? You go through years and years of schooling and you still can't figure that out? Or on a chainsaw–which is basically a bunch of knives that rotate really, really fast and is used, I think, for chopping things up, '_Do not attempt to stop with hands.'_ Well gee, there goes that plan! It says on an extremely sharp knife, '_Keep out of children,'—_that's self-explanatory as far as I'm concerned_—_and on a bar of soap, '_Use as regular soap.' _And what else would you use it as, pray tell?"

_**Diii-i-i-Diii-Do-Dii-Dooo-Di-o-Du-Di-Dui-Doi**_

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of class, the debate had gotten to be so heated that most of the teenagers continued to argue as they hurried to their next class.

"All you have to do is look at a Muggle newspaper, really—they honestly are a violent, lawless people—"

"—Wizards have been in hiding from ages, and entire departments in the Ministry are devoted to keeping our world a secret. We're clearly afraid of _something—"_

"—Do you have _any _idea how many wars the Muggles start and fight, barbarians that they are? Loads of them, far more than Wizards, anyway. Recently, we've only fought against Grindlewald and You-Know-Who, but other than that its been more or less peaceful—"

"—I've seen, over my seventeen years, incredible advancements in technology. It's amazing what the Muggles have figured out how to do, without magic—"

The debate, amazingly enough, was still going strong by the time that they filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"I'm a _Mudblood!"_ Hermione exclaimed as she argued with a Hufflepuff, and at once Professor Lois appeared at her office door, looking scandalized and prepared to scold, but Hermione went on without giving her the chance, "And I'm proud of it! I'm proud of my Muggle parents, the things they've taught me and the traditions we share—"

But then the bell rang, effectively cutting her off, and Professor Lois—as gray and drab and wrinkled as ever—entered the classroom and called the class to attention. Like a select few others around the room, Hermione ducked her head and opened her mouth to continue the argument in whispers, regardless, but Lois silenced them all with a stern look.

"While I think it admirable," Lois rasped hoarsely, leveling them all with dull blue eyes and a vulture-like stare, "that you young'ins continue your studies outside the allotted lesson, I must ask that you do so on your own time rather than that of another teacher."

Then she smiled widely, baring her pearly white, crooked teeth.

"You lot would do well to note that todays lesson will, I hope, be exciting, and as such it will demand your full, undivided attention. Stand, please."

They shared bemused looks but did as she asked, and with a wave of her wand she banished the desks and chairs to the side of the room, leaving only a large empty space.

"Today," Lois said, clapping her gnarled hands together, "We will be exploring how you lot, as a large group, ought to respond to various threats. Desks and such have a tendency to hamper your ability to do so—lessen your activity and mobility, see? So, to begin with something easy: You lot are together, no obstacles. One, unidentified threat, airborne." She again waved her wand and a dark, faceless figure seemed to melt out of the shadows and into the room. A sharp flick of her wrist later and it was in the air. "GO!"

Immediately, the room was bathed in gleaming red lights as the figure shot beams of red—presumably stunners—in every direction. There was an instant, just a fraction of a second, during which all was still, but then someone shrieked and promptly caught a stunner full in the face.

Then all hell broke loose.

Students were screaming and yelling and cursing, some of them trying to duck for cover while others madly rushed for the door, not even noticing if they trampled anyone in the process. A number of them started shooting spells into the air, but their aim was shoddy and in the chaos, they wound up hitting more of their classmates than anything else.

Harry, for his part, cast only shield charms and decided to wait out the exercise. Catching Hermione's eye from across the room—she had strategically backed herself against the wall, so she didn't need to watch her back, and was shooting stunners at the figure—he raised his eyebrows and she grinned, as if to say _'Tell me about it'. _He glanced at Ron, who likewise caught his eye and grinned, and at Ginny, who was frowning in concentration while sending off stunners and so didn't see him.

Less than a minute had passed before Lois concluded the drill with a wave of her wand—the faceless shadow faded from existence—and stared condescendingly at all of them.

Glancing around, Harry saw that, of the twenty-plus students in the class, only seven of them were still conscious and within the classroom—he, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, James, Remus, and Michelle.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Wake them up!" Lois snapped, jerking her head at the stunned students who lay haphazardly about the classroom, and as they set about _Ennervating _the teenagers, Lois crossed to the door. "Get back in here, all of yeh!" She called, and one by one the students who had fled the room filed back in, looking varying degrees of smug and sheepish.

When all were present and conscious, Lois clapped her hands and called them to attention. "That was chaos, pandemonium, and, above all, _pathetic. _A quarter of you went down without a fight—just stood there stupidly until smashed through with a stunner. If those were Killing Curses, you'd be dead and gone, annihilated, exterminated, pushing up daisies, whatever expression you prefer."

Glances were exchanged, feet shuffled, and lips bitten, but no one spoke and Lois plunged on.

"Some of you," she said, her dull blue eyes staring them through, "left the premises. Good self-preservation, I s'pose, but you still left your friends and fellow classmates to the mercy of an unidentified threat. You left them for dead. _And, _in the process, you trampled them, crushed them, hampered their escape. Downright sorry excuses for witches and wizards, you lot are."

There were a number of people, Harry noted, who refused to meet anyone else's gaze following this pronouncement. Cassie and Morganie, he saw, were blushing rather spectacularly and staring avidly at their feet, so he supposed that they must have been among those who had fled.

Lois wasn't finished.

"Then, finally, we get to those of you who put up a fight." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw James draw himself up, looking proud and self-satisfied, but he deflated at the professor's next words. "A worthless, pathetic, miserable fight. You lot hit almost as many classmates as the threat did. Your aim was weak, your spells lacking, your imagination non-existent."

For a moment, there was silence, as many were staring at their feet, glancing nervously at their friends, or looking apprehensively at the professor. No one spoke. Lois sat down on top of her desk.

"Then," she said, quietly, with an all-too-staged dramatic pause, "there's the last three of you."

Harry's lips twisted upward as her eyes bore into his, then flipped to Hermione's, then Ron's. Lily, next to him, stopped breathing.

"Step forward," Lois commanded, her tone leaving no question as to who she meant, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron wordlessly walked until they were directly in front of her.

"You three," she said, "are probably the saddest of the lot. Don't think I didn't notice your silent conversations, your practiced spells, your ready reflexes. You three young'ins doomed your classmates, not because you didn't know what to do, because you couldn't be bothered to help them."

Harry privately thought that the class would be better prepared if they didn't have leaders to use as a crutch, but he kept his mouth shut, recognizing that Lois still considered them to be a part of the class.

"Let's take it from the top," the professor rasped suddenly, "Only this time, _fix those mistakes_."

She waved her wand and, once again, the figure melted out of the shadows and began shooting stunners at the class.

"_Protego!" _A shield blossomed between the figure and the class, giving Harry a few precious seconds to take control.

"To the wall!" he shouted, even as the figure flew above the protection of his shield. At his command, the students scrambled backwards to the nearest wall and the protection it offered. Ron snapped a shield into place above them, and Ginny did the same, just a fraction of a second later.

Without letting his shield falter, Harry briefly made eye contact with Hermione, then jerked his gaze meaningfully towards the door. A moment later, she was disillusioned and gone.

By now, they were safely backed up against the wall, and Harry ordered, "Shields! Everyone, all directions. _No curses!" _

"_Protego!" "Protego!" "Protego!" _

Shouted incantations rang out and the air rippled with magic around them, but the attacker's stunners bounced harmlessly off the collective shields.

Now, safely protected behind a wall of shields, they had a moment to collect themselves, and a note of impatience—a sort of _now what? _mentality—hung heavily in the air. At a loss, several of the students turned to Harry, the assumed leader, for additional guidance, if not outright instructions.

With a wave of his wand, Harry canceled his shield, but as there were shields in every direction, he was not worried.

"_Muffliato," _he murmured, for the sake of surprise, then called for the teenagers to be quiet. At once, the only sound was the rustling of cloaks and heavy breathing. "Stunners don't work against him," he said, "and since he's a shadow I don't think anything physical will, either. Any ideas?"

"Patronus?" Ginny's voice piped up from somewhere to his right. "It works against Dementors and Lethifolds and whatnot, so it might work now."

"Fire? Light?" Someone suggested, "Drives away shadows, might as well drive away him."

"_Finite Incantatem?"_

"Disarm Lois? Since she controls it?"

Harry deliberated for a moment, all too aware of the fact that they were all, for some reason, deferring to him. The thought made his insides squirm.

"All right, here's the plan. On my signal, drop the shields. Anyone who can manage a full Patronus, do that." Ron and Ginny were the only ones who nodded, so he assumed they were the only ones who could. He started dividing the others up. "You lot create fire, glare, light—anything. You six try _Finite Incantatem_. The last of you, disarm Lois. Between all of us, someone's bound to hit their target."

People were steeling themselves, preparing, and Harry said, "On my mark. Ready, set, GO!"

Shields fell rapidly and suddenly spells were flying. Two silvery shapes gleamed as they burst out of their respective wands, and out of the corner of his eye he saw both Ron and Ginny looking distinctly proud of themselves. He had only a moment to register that, however, before a brilliant, blinding light scorched across his vision. He shielded his eyes from the glare.

At last, things quieted and Harry, spots still dancing across his eyes, looked around. The shadowy attacker had disappeared in the pandemonium—he didn't know which theory had proven successful—and Lois was laying on the floor, dazed and wandless.

He hurried over to her. "Professor? Professor, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes—I'm quite alright, thank you, sonny. If you could just help me to my feet, there's a good dear." She stared at him through clouded blue eyes as he helped her up, and there was something unreadable in her gaze. "Well, I'll be. That was a show indeed, young man, but these old bones and eyes aren't what they used to be."

She dusted herself off and Harry, now more confident that she was uninjured, backed up to rejoin his classmates. She eyed them speculatively, then turned her vulture-like gaze on Harry.

"You willingly backed them against the wall, hemming them in," she rasped, drawing herself up to her full height. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, acutely aware that he was the center of attention and that most of the class was waiting, some more anxious and breathless than others, for his answer. "Seemed like a good idea. It was easy enough to communicate, at least, and pretty much foolproof."

Lois's eyes narrowed. "Except, of course, that you had no way to get help or supplies, particularly if the threat summoned back-up."

Harry smiled. "We didn't need help."

"But if you had?"

"Then I guess, since our shields were more than able to hold off every spell he shot at us, I don't know what help back-up would have been. There are enough of us that we should have been able to keep them back."

Lois straightened, standing tall and looking down her nose at him, though he was a good foot taller than her, at least. "And if the threat began using Unforgivables?"

Harry shrugged again. "What if they used Dementors? Trolls? Ninja throwing stars?" There were a few weak chuckles from among the students, but mostly just concerned glances. "We'd figure it out when it came to it. Tangible shields, Patronuses, levitation charms—we're not exactly helpless."

He grinned. "Besides, Hermione's on the outside, she could get help, stage an attack, or cause a distraction, if we needed her to."

Lois spun around with an impressive agility, given her age, and, catching sight of Hermione—who was standing in the doorway, smiling lightly—reluctantly nodded.

"Well done. Ten points to both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, for succeeding in the exercise. Now then, I'll return your desks and we will discuss other possible strategies. Mr. Lupin, what would be the strengths of forming a circle, shoulder to shoulder, facing outward? And what spells would you recommend using?"


	21. Alice

**_Wow. It's been awhile. These past three years have been hellish and I don't even know if anyone still reads these clichéd angsty time travel fics, but unfinished stories are painful. I thought I'd try to get my confidence back with some fanfiction. I'm not going to make any promises this time, because we all know how well that worked out last time, when I was healthy and had the best of intentions. I hope you enjoy it anyway!_**

"Oh God," was all Michelle said, and really it wasn't much more than a whisper, but she sounded so quiet and raw with horror that the Quidditch conversation stopped at once anyway. "Oh my God."

Face white and hands trembling, she held a letter so tightly that the parchment crinkled. Her eyes roved across the words so fast that they seemed to blur—or maybe it was the building tears that blurred them. The post owl gave up on Michelle's bacon, too large and heavy for it to eat, and flew away.

Michelle raised a hand and pressed it against her mouth, as if that could stop the sobs welling up in her. "Alice-" she started to say, but her voice broke with a heavy sob, and she tore out of the Great Hall.

Harry looked from Cassie to Lily, both of whom looked just as confused and concerned as he felt. "Anybody know what that was about?" he asked. Lily fished the letter out of the syrup bowl that Michelle had half-dropped, half-thrown it into. She wiped the syrup off and squinted at it.

Cassie bit her lip. "Alice is her niece, but she's really little. I don't think she's even five years old. She can't be- I hope she's-"

"Cursed," Lily said, still perusing the letter. "Little Alice has been cursed." Forehead crinkled in concern, she put down the letter and gazed at the doors to the Great Hall, which still swung a little from the force with which Michelle had sprinted out. "She's at St. Mungo's."

Heart thrumming in his ears, Harry got up and ran after Michelle. Cassie and Ginny were already ahead of him.

**_Dah da li do – Dah da li do – Da dot dot – Da da_**

McGonagall looked a little overwhelmed when all the seventh year Gryffindor girls, plus Harry and Ron, demanded to go to St. Mungo's immediately. She made a cursory effort to only let Michelle go, but Cassie scowled at her for even suggesting it and Michelle looked as though she would fall over if it weren't for Lily's stabilizing arm, so in the end she made a portkey for them all.

The story came in fits and starts. Death Eaters wanted some sort of powerful artifact from Michelle's parents, as near as Harry could make out from the shouting match between Alice's father and grandparents. The older couple refused to hand it over, or even say what it was, no matter what vitriol their son screamed at them, no matter that it might cost a five-year-old's life or that might attack again. No one was allowed to see little Alice yet, but harried healers kept running in and out of her room, many of them yelling and tense. Michelle came back from talking to her brother, Alice's father, and said that Alice's memories drained out of her by the hour. She couldn't hold on to them, and soon wouldn't recognize anyone or know anything except the scorching pain from the curse.

The healers came out after what felt like a lifetime, and admitted they could soothe the pain and make her cogent, but not much else. The curse had already progressed too far to save her, and she would pass away before the sun set. A blonde woman with a pointed nose and fitted green robes burst into tears at that, and Michelle's brother held her. By now, Alice's whole family had arrived, each of them trying their hardest to put on brave smiles as the healers ushered them in, a few at a time, to see Alice.

When Michelle's turn came, it seemed to Harry that she summoned her courage—lifting her head, drying her tears, and squeezing the hand that Ginny had given her to hold—and then slipped into the room to see the little girl.

At Hermione's prodding, Harry and the other Hogwarts students went to fetch large amounts of tea and biscuits, and then shoved them into the hands of any wide-eyed, lost-looking relative. There wasn't much they could do except be there for Michelle, so they tried to stay out of the way, silent but supportive.

By the time they made it back to Hogwarts, they'd already missed an entire day of classes, but Cassie glared at anyone who pestered them with questions and hexed the few undeterred. Michelle went straight to bed, and Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny made their excuses before heading to the Room of Requirement, where they dueled away their frustrations, anger, and feelings of helplessness.

**_Dah dee doo Dee doh Dee doo Da dot doo_**

Between lending Michelle support, running the Imperius lessons (Snape had invented a formula for a potion that would mimic the effects of the curse to a lesser degree, but brewing it required both of them to work around the clock), and navigating Professor Lois's defense class (she was asking more and more of the time travelers with each class, putting them in increasingly difficult tactical situations to see how they would handle them), Harry was tired, stressed, and maybe even happy.

They bonded together in the face of the tragedy, routinely making Michelle participate in snowball fights, exploding snap games, and long, quiet talks by the fire. Under the guise of camaraderie, they made sure that she ate and did her homework and saw the sun.

Harry dragged Lily and Hermione to help him with the potion of Snape wasn't going to be there, and bantered cheerfully with the dour Slytherin if he was.

Against his better judgment, he felt a thrill of vindication when the girls cursed the Marauders on his behalf after they had vanished his backpack and any other belongings he'd left in their dorm.

**_Da doo di Da doo di Da di Da_**

**_Da di Da_**

"Alice was—" Michelle began, on a blistery cold day when the sun shone brightly but the wind drove them all inside. Harry, Ginny, Lily, Cassie, and Michelle were on the way to the kitchens for some warm food and drink to chase away the cold. "I mean, she could always—"

Harry looked at her and waited, because for the first time Michelle had started to talk about it of her own accord and he didn't want to scare her off. It wasn't like he knew what to say, anyway, and he'd probably put his foot in his mouth if he tried.

Cassie wasn't so patient. "Yeah? What was she like?"

Kicking at the ground and not meeting anyone's eye, Michelle tried again. "Happy. Bubbly. Always had a smile, you know?" Lily reached for her hand and tried for a small reassuring smile, but Michelle didn't see it because she was staring at the ground as if some important secret were scrawled on the stones. "And she could always make me smile, even when I was hopelessly pining over Frank and he barely knew I existed, or when I failed Ancient Runes and thought my parents were going to kill me. She was so innocent, and sweet, and I don't understand how anyone could—" She stopped as soon as her voice started to break under the weight of the sobs welling up all-too-obviously in her chest, shaking her shoulders and making her breath ragged.

"And she couldn't even remember me," she whispered when still no one else had spoken. "They made her forget."

"Then we'll just have to remember it all for her," Ginny said, in that gentle and understanding way that she had. Harry reached for her hand.

"Yeah. I know. I was thinking— It sounds silly now, to say it aloud, but I was thinking..." Michelle swallowed. "They tried to destroy her, make it so she never existed, but they didn't. And they can't. I— I won't let them, not ever. I thought I might change my name to Alice so that she's not-"

When the tears choked her off once again, Lily wrapped her into a hug and murmured something that sounded vaguely soothing against her temple.

**_Dun di dun di da doo di da doo dun dun dun_**

Dumbledore supervised the next Imperius class. Or, more accurately, after he gave a brief lecture on law and morality, he sat at a desk in the back of the room with a humongous tome open in front of him-nevermind the fact that he didn't so much as glance at the words, but instead sat back in his chair, put his feet up on the desk, and laughed heartily at the students.

Snape took the students who still couldn't recognize the effects of the Imperius curse and gave them the potion he and Harry had been working on, which mimicked the effects of the curse as best they could approximate (forty-two hours sleep deprivation, a jelly-leg-inducing deep tissue back massage, and an alcohol-like impairment to critical thinking). He varied the dosage, slowly building the intensity of the effects so that the students could build up their resistance. Each student under the effects had to continue the debates with a more sober classmate, which led to slurred words, name calling, and no small amount of snoring.

Frank, three Hufflepuff seventh years, and a set of fifth year Ravenclaw and Slytherin twins were on their own, casting the Imperius Curse on each other. Every few minutes, someone from that corner would start singing a God-awful rendition of the opera, trying his hand at ballet or miming or Shakespearean monologues, or professing her undying love to Dumbledore and asking for his hand in marriage.

Harry dealt with the students who just plain weren't stubborn enough. They could recognize the curse as it washed over them and put up an initial resistance, but failed to summon the strength of will to throw the spell off. These students he set to meditating with an old Occlumency exercise that Dumbledore had recommended, which caused the student to glow when performing it properly. The goal was to maintain the glow while everyone else did his absolute best to distract you.

Which is how Harry got to this point.

Ron sat in the old armchair, his eyes scrunched tight in concentration and his lips mouthing the Latin enchantment. As the tension between his shoulders loosened little by little, a soft golden hue settled around his hands and pulsed in time with his breaths. Each time he exhaled, the gold grew brighter and pushed further until it had reached his elbows, his shoulders. Finally, his whole body was wrapped in the golden glow—still throbbing and swirling with every breath Ron took—and Harry signaled the start. Hermione and Ginny, both of whom had come over from Snape's group specifically for this, whispered together for a moment more, giggled, and then set to work.

Hermione rubbed Ron's shoulders and brushed a lock of hair out of his face. The glow didn't waver. She crouched down so she could suck on his earlobe and breathe softly on his neck, while her hands maintained the steady, firm massage on his shoulders. When she pressed her lips against his, Ron's breath quickened and the golden glow crept up to his knees, away from his feet. He just clenched his hands into fists and fought for control until the glow encased his entire body. His face and ears radiated heat, and may as well have been glowing red.

Over both of their heads, Harry and Ginny exchanged amused grins, but didn't even try to hide the fact that they were impressed.

Hermione ignored them both, intent on her task; the challenge of it made her brazen in a way that Harry had never seen her before. But then, he figured, it _would_ be for a class that she sacrificed her usual poise and self-restraint. She settled herself on Ron's lap and wriggled back and forth, back and forth, while she murmured in his ear, making the glow flicker once, twice, before going out altogether. No sooner had her eyes lifted in triumph, though, than had the gold come back, its glow twice as bright as before.

She tried to get back at it, but Ginny pulled her off. They conferred for a moment, and Harry noticed with amusement that the tension was back in the hunch of Ron's shoulders now that he didn't know what to expect. Hermione demonstrated a wand movement for Ginny, and then the two of them conjured spiders that they dropped down the back of his robes.

As Ron squirmed, the glow dimmed and grey-green streaks appeared in it, swallowing the light from around them.

"I hate you," he announced to Hermione and Ginny, or maybe Harry, or maybe just the room at large. His voice held steady and calm, like he was discussing the weather rather than facing his worst childhood fear while maintaining his hold on a difficult spell. "I hate you both, and I hope you die bloody and horrifying deaths. You're supposed to distract me, not bloody _torture_ me."

The glow wavered on the word deaths, and then faded on the word torture until the grey-green light-swallowing streaks stood out more than the golden glow. Ron shut up and focused.

Time was up, but Harry waited until Ron had managed to rebuild the golden glow before calling Euen to take his turn. He clapped Ron, whose face was flush with exertion and triumph and excitement, on the shoulder. "Take a break, mate. Get a drink or go for a walk if you need one, and then go join Frank and the others."

And if Hermione took that break with him… Well, there was a lot going on. Harry couldn't really be expected to keep track of everyone, could he?

**_Doo Di Doo Di Da di doo di dah-ah-ah_**

**_Shorter than previous chapters, but still—something posted. I'd really appreciate some reviews. As I said above, I'm trying to get my confidence back after a rough couple of years, so any constructive comments would be much appreciated. Hopefully, I'll be back soon._**


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